HER  WINTER  IN  QUEBEC 


ANNA  CHAPIN  RAY 


.  F. 

M6  80,  BROADWAY,  LO8  ANOELS* 


JANET:   HER   WINTER 
IN    QUEBEC 


"  I'nder  the  electric  light  above  their  heads  she  could  see  the  color  rushing  into 
his  cheeks."     FROXTISIMKCK.     .s>e  pa  ye  25<>. 


JANET:  HER  WINTER 
IN  QUEBEC 


By 
ANNA   CHAPIN   RAY 

AUTHOR  OF  "TEDDY:  HER  BOOK,"  "PHEBE:   HER  PROFESSION, 

"NATHALIE'S  CHCM,"  "BV  THE  GOOD  SAINTE  ANNE," 

"  HEARTS  AND  CREEDS,"  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS    FROM   DRAWINGS  BY 
ALICE   BARBER  STEPHENS 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,   BROWN,   AND    COMPANY 

1906 


Copyright,  1906, 
BY  LITTLE,  BKOWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved. 
Published  September,  1906 


THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Under  the  electric  light  above  their  heads 
she  could  see  the  color  rushing  into  his 
cheeks  " Frontispiece 

"  In  spite  of  Janet's  strictures,  Rob  did  wipe 

the  dishes  " Page  78 

"  Now  that  her  chance  was  come,  Janet  seemed 

loath  to  speak  " "200 

"  Then  she  stepped  forward  to  the  trail "    .    .     "    276 


2229079 


Janet: 

Her  Winter  in  Quebec 

CHAPTER  ONE 

FTER  all,  you  know,"  Ronald  Leslie  ob- 
served  thoughtfully ;  " it 's  the  very  same 
lesson  I  was  trying  to  beat  into  another  chap,  all 
last  summer. " 

Day  unclasped  her  hands  and,  resting  her  elbow 
on  her  knees,  buried  her  chin  in  her  cupped  palms. 

"Sauce  for  the  goose,  I  suppose,"  she  said 
trenchantly;  "and  sauce  for  the  gander."  But 
there  was  no  levity  in  her  tone. 

Unthinkingly,  Ronald  copied  her  pose.  He 
was  an  abnormally  tall  young  Canadian.  She 
was  a  thin  slip  of  an  American  girl,  just  fifteen 
years  old  and  devoid  of  much  beauty,  save  for  a 
pair  of  brown  eyes  that  danced  and  dreamed  by 
turns. 

"It 's  not  just  the  same  thing,  though,"  Ronald 
pursued,  as  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  bit 
of  blue  river  which  rested  against  the  background 
of  bluer  hills.  "That  fellow — he  was  an 
American,  too  —  was  knocked  out  by  his  health. 


JANET:   HER    WINTER 


Mine  —  "  He  fell  silent,  while  the  scarlet  colour 
rolled  up  across  his  cheeks  and  dyed  the  roots  of 
his  hair. 

The  girl  glanced  swiftly  at  the  band  of  black 
which  barred  the  sleeve  of  his  gray  coat. 

"No,"  she  said.  "It's  not  the  same  thing 
at  all." 

Stooping,  Ronald  picked  up  a  bit  of  stone  and 
sent  it  flying  through  the  air  towards  a  distant 
boulder.  When  the  click  of  rock  striking  against 
rock  had  cut  across  the  silence,  — 

"No,"  he  echoed;  "it's  not  the  same  thing, 
and  yet  it  conies  to  it  in  the  end.  We  both  of 
us  are  kicking  in  harness.  I  was  half  through 
McGill.  I  was  sure  of  a  place  in  the  pater's 
business,  and  —  " 

Day's  eyes  were  all  dreamy  now.  She  spoke 
with  the  earnestness  which  came  to  her  at  times. 

"And  you  were  just  ready  to  win  your  spurs, 
when  you  were  thrown  to  the  ground." 

He  nodded.     Then  he  adopted  her  metaphor. 

"  And  it 's  not  too  easy  to  get  another  mount. " 

Undauntedly  she  faced  him. 

"Not  easy;  but  you  '11  do  it." 

"I  wish  I  were  sure  of  it." 

"What  difference,  as  long  as  I  am?"  she  re- 
torted. "  When  you  do  succeed,  not  one  of  your 
friends  will  be  gladder  than  1." 


IN  QUEBEC 


"If  you  know  ifc." 

"But  I  shall.  It  may  be  before  we  go  away; 
there  's  no  telling  how  long  we  may  have  to  stay 
here. "  Then  silently  she  watched  the  cloud  come 
back  into  the  eyes  of  her  companion.  "  I  am  quite 
rested,"  she  said,  as  she  rose.  "Shall  we  go  on  ?" 

"Yes.  It  is  time  we  were  moving."  He  rose 
and  stood  towering  above  her  in  all  his  boyish 
strength.  "  You  must  think  I  am  a  good  deal  of 
a  coward,  Day.  Still,  1  don't  often  flunk  like  this. " 

Impulsively  she  held  out  her  hand.  Not  in 
vain  had  she  watched  him,  during  the  past  two 
weeks.  In  this  foreign  country,  her  girlish  intui- 
tions were  bound  to  fail  her  in  many  ways;  but 
not,  she  felt  assured,  in  regard  to  Ronald  Leslie. 

"No  matter,"  she  said  briefly.  "It  is  part  of 
my  creed  never  to  tell  tales." 

And  Ronald,  as  he  followed  her  up  the  hill, 
trusted  her  implicitly. 

By  the  time  they  had  scrambled  to  the  top  of 
the  steep,  grassy  slope,  even  Day's  agility  was  on 
the  wane.  Her  step  broke  from  Ronald's,  lagged 
a  little  and  came  to  a  halt  Then  she  faced  about 
sharply. 

"You  are  so  endlessly  tall,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"Your  elbow  is  just  on  a  level  with  my  shoulder, 
and  your  step  matches  your  height.  Do  stop  and 
inspect  the  view,  while  I  get  my  breath. " 


JANET:    HER    WINTER 


Obediently  he  too  faced  about.  Nevertheless, 
he  mutinied. 

"I  have  seen  it  all  before." 

Day  had  dropped  to  the  turf  at  his  feet,  and  was 
fanning  her  scarlet  face  with  her  hat. 

"  No  matter.  I  have  n't,  and  you  can  look  for 
two.  It  is  worth  it,  even  if  it 's  not  new  to  you. " 

With  a  sudden  sweep  of  her  arm,  she  pointed 
out  across  the  foreground  of  low  white  buildings 
which  bound  the  camp  of  Saint  Joseph,  to  the 
distant  purple  gash  where  the  Montmorency  takes 
its  leap  to  the  river  below.  In  the  midst  of  the 
picture,  the  Isle  of  Orleans  lay  flaming  in  its 
October  colours,  bordered  on  either  hand  by  the 
broad  blue  stripe  of  river.  In  the  far  back- 
ground, the  mountains  rose  in  a  wide  semi- 
circle, their  sides  changing  back  and  forth  from 
dusky  purple  to  vivid  red,  as  the  shadows  of  the 
moving  clouds  gave  place  to  dazzling  sun.  And 
ever  and  anon  on  the  strong  north  wind,  there 
came  creeping  up  the  slope  to  them  a  faint  echo 
of  the  mighty  din  and  clangour  of  the  hammers 
which  were  beating  ceaselessly  in  the  graving 
dock,  so  far  below. 

When  Day  spoke  again,  it  was  abruptly  and  out 
of  her  own  thoughts. 

"Did  you  know  that  my  brother  was  coming, 
next  week  ?  " 


IN   QUEBEC 


Ronald's  eyes  widened  to  show  their  whites. 
Then  he  curbed  his  wonder,  if  not  his  curiosity. 

"  I  did  n't  know  that  —  " 

Still  abruptly,  Day  capped  his  sentence  for 
him. 

"  That  I  had  a  brother.     Well,  I  have. " 

To  Ronald's  mind,  it  was  not  wholly  obvious 
from  the  girl's  tone  what  answer  it  was  incum- 
bent upon  him  to  make.  He  took  refuge  in  a 
monosyllable. 

"Oh,"  he  said.  However,  even  as  he  spoke,  he 
had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  he  had  not 
risen  to  the  emergency. 

Day's  hands  dropped  from  her  hair,  and  she 
looked  up  at  her  companion  with  merry  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  brevity  which  matched 
his  own.  Then  once  more  she  fell  to  smoothing 
her  ruffled  hair. 

For  a  moment,  Ronald  eyed  her  despairingly. 
This  was  by  no  means  the  first  time  that  Day  had 
baffled  his  understanding. 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ? "  he  demanded,  after  a 
pause. 

Once  more  her  hands  dropped  into  her  lap.  She 
clasped  them  with  a  demureness  which  was  only 
half  genuine. 

"Nothing;  only  I  thought  you  would  be  in- 
terested." 


6  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Regardless  of  the  fact  that  Day's  tailor  was 
such  an  artist  as  he  could  never  aspire  to  employ, 
Ronald  huddled  her  jacket  into  the  curve  of  his 
left  arm,  and  held  out  his  right  hand  to  the  girl 
at  his  feet. 

"Come,"  he  said.     "That  is,  if  you  're  rested." 

Without  troubling  herself  to  rise,  Day  looked 
up  into  his  face,  took  swift  note  of  the  spark  in 
the  brown  eyes,  of  the  quiver  of  the  short  upper 
lip.  Then  she  smiled  straight  at  his  frowning 
brows. 

"Don't  be  cross,  there  's  a  good  boy,"  she  ad- 
monished him,  with  an  accent  half-teasing,  half- 
maternal. 

In  spite  of  himself,  he  laughed. 

"Then  don't  torment  the  life  out  of  a  chap," 
he  responded,  a  little  too  fervently  for  her  com- 
plete comfort. 

Her  glance  dropped  back  to  the  river. 

"  Do  I  torment  you,  Ronald  ? "  she  asked 
quietly. 

"Rather!" 

"How?" 

He  was  of  English  ancestry,  and  he  cast  about 
in  his  mind  for  a  fitting  answer  to  her  nonchalant 
question. 

"Oh,  because—  Why,  by  being  chums  one 
minute,  and  turning  thorny  the  next." 


IN   QUEBEC 


She  shook  her  head  slowly. 

"I  suspect  that's  the  American  of  me,"  she 
answered,  and  a  little  sincere  note  crept  into 
the  levity  of  her  tone.  "  You  '11  get  used  to  it 
in  time." 

"I'm  not  so  sure."  Ronald's  tone  was  still 
grave. 

The  laughter  came  back  into  her  voice,  the 
light  into  her  eyes. 

"  Then  you  'd  rather  I  stayed  thorny,  all  the 
time  ? "  she  said  interrogatively,  as  she  scrambled 
to  her  feet  and  shook  her  skirt  free  from  the  blos- 
soms she  had  been  pulling  to  pieces. 

For  a  moment,  he  looked  down  at  her  steadily. 
Then  he  asked,  — 

"  But  why  not  stay  the  other  thing  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  in  wayward  opposition  to 
his  mood. 

"It  would  n't  be  me,"  she  answered  him.  And 
Ronald  was  too  busy  in  weighing  and  admitting 
the  truth  of  her  words  to  pay  due  heed  to  her  calm 
regardlessness  of  grammar. 

Had  the  truth  been  told,  Day's  occasional  re- 
gardlessness of  all  things,  from  grammar  to  his 
boyish  feelings,  had  been  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting facts  of  his  recent  experience.  Unknown 
to  himself,  Day  Argyle  was  proving  the  best  tonic 
that  Ronald  Leslie  could  have  had  just  then,  and 


8  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

Ronald  Leslie's  need  of  a  tonic  was  greater  than 
anyone  but  himself  had  been  able  to  realize. 

For  nineteen  years,  Ronald  Leslie  had  strolled 
along  through  life,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
chin  in  the  air.  Quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  he 
expected  events  to  make  way  before  him ;  and,  as 
a  rule,  events  justified  his  expectation.  Then,  of 
a  sudden,  the  change  came. 

Only  the  second  night  after  his  return  from  the 
country  and  from  the  jolliest  summer  he  had  ever 
spent,  only  two  nights  before  he  was  to  return  to 
Montreal  for  what  he  expected  to  be  his  gayest 
year  of  college  life,  Ronald  Leslie  had  been  called 
to  the  telephone.  Two  hours  later,  he  had  left 
his  mother  and  his  sister  Janet  sobbing  in  each 
other's  arms  and,  going  down  to  the  library,  he 
had  seated  himself  in  his  father's  chair  and  faced 
the  future  with  dazed,  but  steady  eyes.  Four  days 
later,  as  he  came  out  from  under  the  trees  of  Mount 
Hermon,  the  daze  had  left  his  eyes,  but  the  steadi- 
ness remained.  Under  the  yellow  leaves  that 
loitered  as  they  fell,  under  the  aged  trees  that  had 
seen  so  many  dropping  tears,  Ronald  Leslie  had 
left  his  father,  resting  from  the  professional 
strain  that  had  snapped  a  life  in  two.  And 
already  Ronald  had  been  told  that  his  own  time 
for  passive  grieving  was  ended.  It  was  for  him 
to  stir  himself  and  take  active  thought  for  the 


IN  QUEBEC  9 


morrow.  From  comparative  luxury,  he  was 
dropped  into  something  dangerously  akin  to 
poverty. 

Two  weeks  later,  Day  had  appeared.  Even 
now,  he  had  scarcely  come  to  realize  the  nature 
of  the  chance  which  had  brought  this  wide-awake, 
tempestuous  American  girl  into  his  Canadian  home 
and  life.  The  Argyles  were  to  spend  the  winter 
in  Quebec.  Mrs.  Argyle's  cousin  had  married 
Mrs.  Leslie's  sister-in-law.  The  rest  of  the  chain 
of  circumstance  had  forged  its  links  quite  natu- 
rally, down  to  the  clasping  of  the  two  ends :  Mrs. 
Argyle's  need  for  a  boarding-place  for  her  family 
and  Mrs.  Leslie's  equally  imperative  need  for  an 
enlargement  of  her  income.  There  had  been 
three  Argyles,  Day,  her  mother  and  her  father,  a 
well-known  railway  magnate  whose  winter  in 
Canada  was  one  of  strenuous  business  which  took 
him  much  from  his  temporary  home.  In  her  own 
city,  Mrs.  Argyle  was  accounted  a  woman  of 
rare  poise  and  charm*,  but,  for  Ronald,  the  situ- 
ation had  summed  itself  up  in  Day. 

And  yet,  not  even  the  fondest  imagination  could 
stretch  itself  to  the  point  of  calling  Day  Argyle 
charming.  In  person,  she  was  not  especially 
pretty;  in  character,  her  innate  sweetness  was 
often  buried  beneath  a  barrier  of  teasing  thorns. 
She  liked  Ronald  absolutely;  from  the  hour  of 


10  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

their  meeting,  she  showed  a  marked  enjoyment 
of  his  society,  completely  ignoring  his  sister, 
when  Ronald  himself  was  in  the  room.  Never- 
theless, she  treated  his  young  ideals  and  his 
young  dignity  without  one  whit  of  reverence, 
mocked  at  him  and  teased  him  without  cease, 
and  only  showed  him  her  gentler  side  when  it 
was  plain  to  her  that  her  mockery  had  gone  too 
far,  or  when  his  downcast  face,  bearing  witness 
to  the  anxiety  he  could  not  always  down,  touched 
her  girlish  pity  and  bade  her  hold  out  to  him  a 
helpful  hand. 

And  Ronald  accepted  them  all:  mockery,  teas- 
ing and  gentleness,  in  all  their  swift  alterna- 
tions, accepted  them  without  seeking  to  analyze 
his  own  enjoyment  Truth  to  tell,  this  irrespon- 
sible, merry  girlhood  was  the  best  thing  in  the 
world  for  the  young  fellow,  heartsick  as  he  was 
with  worry,  and  deadly  weary  with  the  routine  of 
the  office  where  a  place  had  been  made  for  him. 
The  offer  of  the  place  had  come  to  him  on  the  day 
following  his  father's  burial.  The  gratitude  of  his 
acceptance  had  been  in  no  wise  tempered  by  mis- 
givings. In  his  eager,  boylike  optimism,  he  had 
not  paused  to  realize  how  little  his  idle,  happy- 
go-lucky  youth  had  fitted  him  for  the  long,  tedious 
hours  of  business  life.  Even  if  he  had  realized  it, 
however,  Ronald  Leslie  was  not  the  one  to  flinch. 


IN  QUEBEC  11 


In  future,  his  life  was  not  for  himself  alone.  It 
concerned  itself  with  his  mother  and  with  Janet 
who  was  only  fourteen  and  had  her  education  all 
hefore  her.  Ronald  Leslie  was  wholly  loyal  to  his 
kin.  Nevertheless,  he  was  conscious  that,  coming 
home  after  a  long  day  in  the  office,  it  was  good 
to  find  his  mother's  tired  face  and  Janet's  black 
frock  relieved  by  the  bright,  blithe  carelessness  of 
Day  Argyle. 

And  now,  two  weeks  after  her  coming  into  the 
home,  he  had  bespoken  Day's  company  for  his 
Saturday  half-holiday.  He  had  asked  Janet, 
too;  but  Janet  had  shaken  her  head.  She  had 
plans  of  her  own;  and  as  yet  she  and  Day  had 
not  come  upon  any  firm  ground  of  sympathy. 
Day  dismissed  Janet  without  a  thought.  Janet 
thought  much  about  Day,  and  the  summing  up 
of  her  thoughts  had  led  to  the  belief  that  Day 
was  rather  arrogant  and  wholly  critical.  And 
Janet,  albeit  outwardly  gentle,  was  not  the  girl 
to  submit  herself  patiently  to  arrogant  criticism. 
Rather  than  that,  she  would  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  this  American  stranger  who  had  invaded  her 
home  and  assailed  her  brother  with  no  trace  of 
the  admiring  respect  with  which  Janet  had  been 
always  wont  to  treat  him. 

And,  meanwhile,  Day  and  Ronald  had  crossed 
a  wide  strip  of  open  pasture,  skirted  the  edge  of 


12  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

a  little  lake  and  plunged  into  a  belt  of  woodland 
where  the  shadows  rested  heavily  over  the  rough, 
uneven  turf.  Less  than  half  an  hour  later,  they 
were  sitting  in  the  shade  of  Fort  Number  One, 
Ronald  in  an  embrasure  of  the  old  gray  wall, 
Day  mounted  upon  an  insecure  flight  of  steps  by 
which  her  companion  had  clambered  to  his  present 
position. 

"  You  'd  much  better  come  up, "  Ronald  urged 
hospitably,  as  he  swung  his  heels  to  and  fro 
against  the  masonry  of  his  lofty  perch. 

"  What 's  the  use  ?  You  just  said  you  could  n't 
get  inside  the  fort,  and  I  don't  care  to  stop  half- 
way," Day  made  disdainful  answer. 

"But  you  can  see  these  two  guns.  You  've  only 
to  crawl  in  through  this  hole.  It's  quite  easy," 
he  urged  again. 

Day  sniffed  in  disapproval. 

"Also  quite  dirty,"  she  retorted. 

Ronald  made  a  vain  endeavour  to  view  the 
small  of  his  own  back. 

"  Am  1  so  dusty  as  all  that  ?  " 

"Not  you.  Dust  doesn't  stick  to  you.  If  I 
were  to  go  inside,  though,  I  should  be  unlit  for 
mortal  eyes.  Besides,  as  I  say,  what 's  the  use  ? 
I  heard  you  clattering  at  a  door  close  by,  so  you 
did  n't  go  far.  As  for  guns,  I  can  see  those  on 
the  Ramparts  at  any  time." 


77V   QUEBEC  13 


Ronald  surveyed  her  in  mock  meditation. 

"I  did  n't  suppose  an  American  — 

Long  since,  he  had  learned  Day's  trick  of 
capping  his  sentences  for  him.  She  did  it 
now. 

"Stopped  at  anything.     Well,  they  do." 

"  At  ?  "  he  observed  suggestively. 

"At  making  geese  of  themselves,"  she  replied, 
with  sudden  tartness.  "  I  don't  see  the  sense  of 
wasting  my  efforts  by  crawling  into  a  hole  that 
goes  nowhere.  Nevertheless,  I  mean  to  see  the 
inside  of  this  fort." 

Laughing,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"No, "she  said,  while,  with  a  scramble  and  a 
leap,  she  landed  on  the  ground  beside  the  totter- 
ing old  ladder  which  Ronald  had  dragged  to  the 
foot  of  the  wall  below  the  embrasure.  "  I  intend 
to  go  inside.  Meanwhile,  I  think  I  '11  upset 
the  ladder,  so  you  can't  run  away  while  I  am 
exploring." 

With  a  swift  gesture,  she  suited  the  action  to 
the  word.  With  another  swift  gesture,  Ronald 
turned  about,  hung  for  an  instant  by  his  hands, 
then  dropped  into  the  ditch  at  her  side. 

"Whither  now?"  he  queried  calmly,  as  he 
patted  his  hands  together  to  free  them  from  the 
dust  of  his  descent. 

"To  find  a  breach  in  the  fortress,"  she  answered 


14  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

briefly;  but  her  eyes  showed  her  appreciation  of 
his  prompt  reply  to  her  challenge. 

Twice  they  made  circuit  of  the  great  stone  fort, 
once  in  the  ditch  where  they  paused  again  and 
again  to  look  down  the  muzzles  of  the  old  black 
guns  that  faced  them  from  the  depths  of  the  em- 
brasures, once  on  the  crest  of  the  glacis  where 
they  halted  often  to  look  out  upon  the  noble  view 
of  mountain  and  river  which  spread  itself  before 
their  eyes.  As  they  ended  their  second  circuit, 
Day  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"Stratagem  failing,  I  mean  to  try  force,"  she 
said  gayly,  and,  the  next  minute,  she  was  running 
along  the  bridge  that  crossed  the  narrow  ditch. 

Day  had  had  many  a  surprise  in  the  course  of 
her  short  life;  none  greater,  however,  than  the 
one  which  met  her  when  she  laid  her  hand  on 
the  knob  of  a  little  door  let  into  one  of  the 
panels  of  the  great  gate  which  faced  the  end 
of  the  bridge.  The  knob  yielded  to  her  touch, 
turned,  the  door  swung  open  and,  a  moment  later, 
American  Day,  camera  in  hand  and  Ronald  at 
her  heels,  stood  inside  the  sacred  British  pre- 
cincts of  Port  Number  One. 

For  a  second,  a  mysterious  fear  fell  upon  the 
girl;  the  place  was  so  big,  so  warlike,  so  de- 
serted. A  dozen  khaki  coats  would  have  broken 
the  spell.  The  absolute  desolation  awed  her  and 


IN  QUEBEC  15 


made  her  afraid,  and  she  turned  to  cast  an  appeal- 
ing glance  up  at  Ronald.  The  laugh  on  his  lips 
partially  reassured  her. 

"  You  have  wrecked  the  local  tradition,"  he  said 
jovially.  "It's  the  first  time  an  American  ever 
broke  into  one  of  our  forts." 

At  his  voice,  her  buoyancy  came  back  to  her. 

"The  first;  but  not  the  last,"  she  made  crisp 
response. 

"Mayhap.  In  the  meantime,  how  do  you  like 
your  new  possession  ?  " 

She  glanced  a  little  dubiously  about  the  great 
enclosure  which  lay  between  the  earth-capped 
wooden  barracks  and  the  gray  stone  wall. 

"It  looks  rather  lonely,"  she  answered. 

"All  the  better;  else  we  might  not  be  here. 
Come,  shall  we  explore  ?  " 

Again  her  nervous  fear  came  back  upon  her. 

"  Do  —  do  you  think  we  'd  better  ?  " 

"  Surely.  I  was  never  here  before ;  I  'm  not 
likely  to  be  here  again.  I  certainly  mean  to 
make  the  most  of  my  chance." 

"  But  if  we  were  caught  trespassing  ?  " 

"  I  '11  slay  the  guard,  while  you  make  a  dash  for 
the  gate. " 

Her  face  fell. 

"Then  there  is  a  guard  ?  " 

"Somewhere.      Not  here,    though."     Then  he 


16  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

looked  down  at  her  a  little  intently.     "Afraid  ?  " 
he  queried. 

The  colour  came  into  her  checks,  and  her 
shoulders  straightened. 

"No,"  she  fibbed.  "Come  on."  And,  chin  in 
air,  she  walked  resolutely  forward. 

For  a  long  half-hour,  they  wandered  to  and  fro 
and  up  and  down,  now  climbing  up  the  smooth 
turf  of  the  earthworks,  now  picking  their  way 
along  the  loose  boards  and  over  the  crumbling 
plaster  that  littered  the  barrack  floor,  now  creep- 
ing carefully  along  dark  passages  which  led  to  a 
nowhere  peopled  only  with  slow-falling  drops  of 
water  that  clicked  against  sunken  rocks  in  the 
heart  of  the  thick  blackness.  Time-worn  signs 
pointed  to  distant  magazines  numbered  in  great 
black  letters.  Tunnels  led  into  the  heart  of  the 
fort,  branched  and  lost  themselves  in  other  tunnels 
which  slowly  led  back  to  a  faint  gray  reflection  of 
the  outer  day.  And  everywhere  was  the  same 
heavy  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  sound  of  their 
own  voices,  by  the  echo  of  their  footfall  on  the 
ground. 

.  And  then,  of  a  sudden,  Day  started  hack  in 
alarm,  as  Ronald  threw  open  a  little  door  in  the 
wall  beside  them. 

"  A  man !  "  she  cried.     "  It 's  a  man !  " 

And  it  was  long  before  Ronald  could  coax  her 


IN   QUEBEC  17 


to  look  in  at  the  reflection  of  his  own  face,  mir- 
rored in  the  reflector  of  a  lantern  sunk  in  the  wall. 
She  laughed  at  last ;  but  the  laugh  was  unsteady, 
for  the  solitude  of  the  place  was  fast  destroying 
her  level  nerve. 

She  looked  and  laughed ;  then  she  led  the  way 
back  to  the  sunshine  outside. 

"I  think  I  've  had  enough,"  she  said,  when  once 
more  she  stood  under  the  blue  October  sky. 

But  the  spirit  of  adventure  had  come  upon 
Ronald  in  his  turn. 

"Come,"  he  begged  her.  "We  've  not  been  to 
this  end  yet.  It  looks  jolly,  and  we  've  plenty  of 
time." 

She  opened  her  lips  to  demur.  Then,  without  a 
word,  she  turned  and  crossed  the  grass  at  his  side. 
It  was  she  who  had  started  on  the  exploration. 
It  was  not  for  her  to  beg  off,  leaving  the  explora- 
tion half  complete.  Nevertheless,  she  looked  long- 
ingly backward  at  the  sky,  as  Ronald  led  the  way 
into  the  great,  arched  vault  of  another  passage. 

It  was  the  darkest  tunnel  they  had  found  as  yet, 
the  darkest  and  the  most  mysterious.  For  fifty 
feet,  it  ran  downward  at  a  sharp  angle;  then  it 
turned  to  the  left,  completely  shutting  out  every 
beam  of  the  pale  gray  light  which  came  faintly 
down  from  the  opening.  Slowly,  carefully,  Ron- 
ald crept  forward,  his  fingers  sliding  along  the 

2 


18  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

wall,  his  feet  feeling  every  inch  of  the  floor- 
way.  Slowly  and  with  infinite,  but  unspoken 
terrors,  the  girl  crept  after  him,  afraid  to  ad- 
vance, still  more  afraid  to  be  left  behind.  Then 
abruptly  she  halted  and  stood  as  if  rooted  to  tliu 
ground. 

"Listen!  "  she  said  faintly.     "I  hear  voices." 

Ronald  halted  in  his  turn. 

"Ours  ?  "  he  said  jovially. 

"No.     Others.     Men  talking." 

Ronald  laughed,  wholly  unconscious  of  her 
fears. 

"If  they  're  here,  we  '11  meet  them.  I  fancy  we 
have  them  bottled  up  in  this  hole. " 

"  But  it 's  not  here, "  she  urged.  "  It  came  from 
the  side,  through  the  earth." 

"The  guard,  most  likely.  Well,  you've  been 
complaining  of  its  being  too  lonesome.  We  '11 
hunt  him  up,  when  we  get  out  of  this.  Are  you 
ready  ? " 

For  some  reason  for  which  she  was  wholly  un- 
able to  account,  the  distant  sound  of  voices  had 
multiplied  Day's  terrors  tenfold.  It  seemed  to 
her  to  add  vastly  to  the  strange  mystery  of  her 
surroundings.  The  girl  was  no  coward ;  yet  now 
she  longed  acutely  for  the  fresh  air  and  sunshine, 
longed  even  for  the  touch  of  Ronald's  strong,  warm 
hand  on  her  fingers  Then  she  pulled  herself 


IN  QUEBEC  19 


together.  This  was  the  first  time  that  Ronald 
had  favoured  her  with  an  invitation  of  any  sort. 
She  was  not  by  any  means  minded  to  have  it  the 
last.  She  steadied  her  voice  with  an  effort. 

" Go  on, "  she  said  undauntedly.  "I  '11  follow. " 
And  she  heard  Ronald  move  cautiously  forward  in 
the  darkness. 

Only  a  moment  afterward,  she  heard  the  clatter 
of  sliding  rock,  a  short,  sharp  exclamation  and 
the  thud  of  a  falling  body.  The  next  instant, 
she  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  with  the  tips  of  her 
toes  resting  just  over  the  edge  of  an  unseen  gash 
in  the  flooring. 


20  JANET:   HER    WINTER 


CHAPTER  TWO 

IT  seemed  to  Day  that,  for  the  space  of  hours, 
she  stood  as  if  frozen  to  the  earth,  awaiting 
in  terror  some  sound  from  beneath  which  should 
tell  her  the  extent  of  the  tragedy  which  had  be- 
fallen her  companion.  In  reality,  it  was  some- 
thing less  than  forty-five  seconds  before  she  heard 
Ronald  speak. 

"Hullo!  "  he  said,  and  his  voice  had  the  meas- 
ured accent  of  one  who  speaks  into  a  telephone. 

From  force  of  habit,  she  adopted  his  tone,  and 
her  accent  also  was  the  one  generally  directed  into 
a  receiver. 

"Hullo!" 

"Is  it  Day?  "  he  queried,  for  the  telephone  im- 
pression was  still  upon  him,  and  he  was  too  much 
astonished  and  shaken  up  by  his  fall  to  be  able  to 
reason  that,  in  all  human  probability,  Day  had 
not  been  removed  in  the  space  of  the  last  half- 
minute  and  her  place  filled  by  a  stranger. 

"Yes,  it's  Day,"  she  responded.  "Are  you  — 
are  you  killed  ?  " 

"No;  only  sloppy,"  he  replied  gravely. 


IN  QUEBEC  21 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  the  ludicrousness  of  their 
conversation  flashed  upon  them,  and  Ronald's 
chuckle  was  answered  by  a  half-hysterical  gasp 
from  Day. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  at  length. 

"  Somewhere  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. " 

Vainly  she  strove  to  peer  into  the  blackness  at 
her  feet. 

"How  far?" 

"About  ten  feet." 

"Ten  feet!  "  Her  fears  came  back  to  her  and, 
this  time,  they  were  quite  concrete.  "Are  you 
badly  hurt?" 

"  Only  my  clothes,  and  a  bump  on  my  brow, "  he 
replied  composedly.  "  I  landed  on  my  nose  in  six 
inches  of  clay." 

Day  gasped  again. 

"  Oh,  Ronald,  don't  be  so  funny !  I  was  so 
frightened ;  I  thought  you  were  dead,  and  it 's 
awful  to  laugh,"  she  besought  him. 

"  Soft  clay,  too, "  he  added.  "  I  'm  picking  it 
out  of  my  eyebrows  now." 

"Come  up  and  let  me  see,"  she  begged  him. 
"I  know  you  must  be  hurt." 

His  laugh  reassured  her ;  but  not  his  words. 

"  You  are  asking  impossible  things,"  he  objected. 
"I  can't  come  up,  and  you  could  n't  see  me,  if  I 
did." 


22  ./.LY A"/'.-    HER    WINTER 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Chiefly  because  this  hole  has  n't  any  edges  to 
climb,  and  because  it  is  pitch  dark  where  you 
are."  His  tone  was  imperturbable. 

She  caught  at  the  first  phrase. 

"  Not  any  edges !     Then  how  can  you  get  out  ?  " 

"I  can't." 

She  ransacked  the  corners  of  her  mind  for  an 
idea. 

"  Can't  I  let  down  something  ?  "  she  suggested 
at  length,  with  a  passing  recollection  of  certain 
books  in  which  her  brother's  soul,  years  before, 
had  been  wont  to  delight. 

"  For  instance  ?  "  he  queried,  as  casually  as  if 
he  had  been  strolling  at  her  side  on  the  terrace. 

"Something  to  climb  out  on.  Something  to 
eat."  Her  voice  was  fainter  again. 

The  next  instant,  the  vault  echoed  with  Ronald's 
laugh. 

"By  Jove,  Day,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak;  "do  you  think  I  am  going  to  spend  my 
days  in  this  clay -pit  ?  " 

"  But  if  you  can't  get  out  ?  " 

"  Then  it 's  for  you  to  go  after  somebody  to  get 
me  out,"  he  retorted  practically. 

"Where?" 

"  Anywhere,  so  long  as  it 's  handy.  What 
about  your  voices  ?  " 


IN   QUEBEC  23 


But  Day  was  deaf  to  his  reply.  Smothering 
the  shame  that  already  had  assailed  her  at  the 
thought  of  the  way  she  had  lost  her  head,  she 
had  turned  and  scrambled  away  along  the  dark, 
arched  tunnel,  in  search  of  light  and  air  and 
help. 

Quite  unexpectedly,  she  found  the  three  await- 
ing her  together.  Her  step  steadied  and  grew 
swifter,  as  she  came  in  sight  of  the  gray  circle 
of  light  at  the  far  end  of  the  passage,  and  she 
dashed  through  it  and  out  into  the  dazzling  sun- 
shine at  a  pace  which  narrowly  escaped  demolish- 
ing a  solitary  figure  who  stood  facing  the  opening 
in  the  earth.  The  figure  dodged  perceptibly,  and 
his  hanging  under  jaw  drooped  even  lower,  as  his 
eyes  rested  on  this  unexpected  vision,  bursting  out 
upon  him  from  the  deep  places  of  the  earth.  He 
faltered.  Then  he  put  up  his  eyeglass. 

"Oh,  by  George!  "  he  ejaculated. 

Day  pulled  herself  up  abruptly  and  looked  at 
him.  During  the  scant  two  weeks  she  had  lived 
on  British  soil,  she  had  not  yet  come  in  contact 
with  the  newly-imported  Englishman.  Now  that 
at  last  she  beheld  him,  in  place  of  reverence,  he 
inspired  her  mirth.  The  stiff  hat  pushed  back  to 
show  the  straight  and  spiky  hair,  the  wide  eyes, 
the  broad  black  string  of  the  eyeglass,  the  deeply 
wrinkled  face  and  the  expression  of  vacant  as- 


24  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

tonishment:  all  these  details  went  to  make  up 
a  whole  which  taxed  to  the  utmost  the  girl's 
powers  of  self-control.  Even  in  the  instant  of 
her  first  glance,  she  sent  a  mental  apology  to 
the  actors  whom  she  had  accused  of  exaggerat- 
ing the  type  of  stage  Englishman.  Then  ab- 
ruptly she  recalled  her  manners,  recalled,  too, 
the  suddenness  of  her  exit  from  the  hole.  Small 
wonder  that  the  -stranger  had  dodged  at  sight  of 
the  unexpected  apparition ! 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  decorously. 

"I  —  Oh  —  ah  —  don't  mention  it, "  the  stran- 
ger responded,  with  bland  haste.  Then,  turning, 
he  made  off  across  the  open  stretch  of  turf  lead- 
ing to  the  gate. 

Day  looked  after  him  in  sudden  desperation.  It 
seemed  to  her  that,  with  his  turning  away,  her 
only  help  of  succour  was  departing  from  her. 
Oddly  enough,  she  took  no  heed  of  the  fact  that 
this  taciturn  stranger  was  scarcely  the  person  to 
be  soliloquizing  to  himself  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  and  at  the  extreme  top  of  his  lungs. 

"Wait!"  she  called  after  him,  and  her  voice 
was  half-pleading,  half-imperious. 

At  her  call,  he  stayed  his  step  and  looked  over 
his  shoulder. 

"I  can't,"  he  made  accentless,  yet  emphatic 
answer,  in  the  widest  of  London  vowels. 


IN   QUEBEC  25 


"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  must  catch  my  train." 

"Your  —  train!"  Day's  jaw  dropped,  as  she 
turned  from  his  inexpressive  face  to  the  equally 
inexpressive  landscape,  as  if  to  discover  a  loco- 
motive waiting  in  some  inconspicuous  corner  of 
the  enclosure. 

"  Yes,  my  train.     I  am  going  to  New  York. " 

"  To  —  New  York  ?  "  Again  a  dash  punctuated 
her  phrase. 

"Yes.  That's  what  I  came  out  for."  The 
announcement,  still  abnormally  broad  as  to  its 
vowels,  was  totally  lacking  in  accent. 

"But—  Day  felt  as  if  her  brain  were  reel- 
ing. The  stranger's  composure,  coupled  with  his 
obvious  haste,  his  strange  speech  and  more  strange 
assertion,  all  this,  following  hard  upon  the  fright 
of  a  few  moments  before,  made  the  girl  half  doubt 
her  own  identity.  For  the  identity  of  the  stranger 
she  made  no  effort  to  account. 

"Certainly,"  he  iterated.  "That  is  what  I 
came  out  for." 

« 

Then,  for  one  moment,  Day  bethought  herself 
of  certain  scenes  from  Alice  in  Wonderland.  The 
stranger's  repartee  appeared  to  be  of  the  same 
sort. 

"  But  the  New  York  train  does  n't  start  from 
here." 


26  JANET:   HER 


"  Oh,  no  ;  I  know  it.  " 

"Then  what  in  the  world  did  you  come  out  here 
for  ?  "  she  demanded,  forgetting  Ronald  entirely 
in  the  new  problem  which  faced  her. 

"I  came  out  to  go  to  New  York,"  the  stranger 
reiterated.  "Later,  I  may  spend  the  winter  in 
Quebec;  that  is,  if  I  can  keep  from  being  cold." 
He  paused  and  peered  at  the  girl  near-si  ghtedly, 
while  he  fell  to  fumbling  about  in  his  pockets. 
"  Here  is  my  card,"  he  added. 

Day  glanced  at  the  card  which  he  held  out  to 
her.  Sir  George  Porteous,  London,  it  read. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "It's  all 
right;  I  am  glad  to  meet  you.  It's  your  help 
I  want  now,  not  your  card,  though." 

He  looked  up  at  her  rather  distrustfully.  This 
decided  young  child  with  the  pretty  clothes  was  a 
new  species  to  him,  new,  too,  the  sort  of  girl  who 
would  disdain  the  bit  of  pasteboard  he  was  offer- 
ing her.  He  shook  his  head  slightly,  and  sought 
his  eyeglass. 

But  Day  spoke  again,  this  time  with  some 
impatience. 

"  We  're  wasting  time.     Do  hurry!  " 

"  Where  ?  "  he  asked  languidly. 

With  a  swift,  free  gesture,  she  pointed  to  the 
passage  behind  her. 

"  Into  that  hole  ?  " 


IN   QUEBEC  27 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  1  could  n't. "  The  last  word  was  spread 
broadly  over  two  separate  syllables. 

"You  must." 

"I  should  lose  my  train,"  he  protested.  "Be- 
sides, I  should  lose  my  way." 

Day  felt  her  temper  going  fast.  It  rendered  her 
next  words  rather  incomprehensible. 

"No  matter.     You  must  help  get  Ronald  out." 

A  faint  spark  of  interest  began  to  manifest  itself 
in  Sir  George's  dull  eyes. 

"  Out  ?  "  he  echoed. 

Day  stamped  her  foot  on  the  ground.  It  was 
rude;  but  at  least  it  served  to  help  her  to  keep 
her  tongue  in  check. 

"  Yes,  out.  He  's  in  there,  and  you  must  help 
him." 

Sir  George  Porteous  bent  upon  her  a  searching 
glance. 

"  Why  does  n't  he  walk  out  on  his  feet  ?  "  he 
queried  suddenly. 

"He  can't." 

"Oh." 

"He's  fallen  into  a  hole,"  Day  explained. 
"  We  were  exploring,  and  the  floor  ended,  and  he 
did  n't  know  it  and  fell  in.  And  now  he  can't  get 
out  without  a  man  to  help  him." 

With  the  spasmodic  deliberation  which  charac- 


28  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

terized  his  movements,  Sir  George  Porteous  felt 
for  his  glass  and  screwed  the  glass  into  his  eye. 
Then  he  gave  a  long  look  into  Day's  flushed 
face. 

"  Oh.     A  chap  inside  that  hole  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  in  another  hole  inside  ?  " 

"Yes." 

For  a  long  moment,  Sir  George  contemplated 
both  the  girl  and  the  situation.  Then  he  spoke. 

"  How  rummy ! "  he  observed  impartially,  and 
then  once  more  he  turned  away. 

"  Wait!  "  Day  said  again. 

"Oh,  but  I  must  go."  His  fingers  shut  upon 
his  fob.  "It  is  time  for  my  train." 

"  But  you  would  n't  leave  Ronald  in  there ! "  she 
exclaimed,  now  thoroughly  alarmed  by  his  evident 
intention  of  abandoning  her  companion  to  his 
fate. 

"I  must."  Then,  of  a  sudden,  he  made  a 
vague  gesture  towards  the  far  end  of  the  bar- 
racks. "There  's  a  care-taker  in  there.  I  tipped 
him,  and  he  took  me  about.  I  fancy  he  's  got 
some  sort  of  a  rope,  you  know.  I  —  I  hope 
you'll  get  the  poor  chap  out."  And,  the  gate 
reached,  Sir  George  Porteous  opened  the  panel 
and  clambered  through,  catching  his  toe  slightly, 
as  he  made  his  undignified  exit  Then  he  dis- 


77V   QUEBEC  29 


appeared  from  view,  and  Day,  looking  after  him, 
gave  tongue  to  her  thoughts. 

"  What  a  dunce !  "  she  said  aloud.  "  But  how 
do  you  suppose  he  ever  strayed  up  here  ?  "  Then 
with  all  haste,  she  went  in  search  of  the  care-taker 
and  his  rope;  and  it  was  not  until  half  an  hour 
later,  as  she  was  going  down  the  hill  with  Ronald 
that  she  yielded  to  the  absolute  humour  of  the 
situation. 

And  Janet,  meanwhile,  seated  on  a  stool  beside 
the  kitchen  range,  was  busy  beating  eggs. 

The  Leslies  lived  on  Saint  Louis  Street,  and 
their  large  old  house,  by  rights,  should  have 
had  three  maids  to  keep  it  in  order.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  had  had  four,  until  the  change 
had  come.  Then  Mrs.  Leslie,  faced  by  the  alter- 
natives of  moving  into  a  smaller  house  or  of  taking 
a  larger  share  of  the  housework  into  her  own  hands, 
had  chosen  the  latter  course.  Father  and  grand- 
father and  great-grandfather  had  lived  within  those 
gray  stone  walls  where,  too,  all  her  married  life 
had  been  spent  Another  house  would  be  barren 
of  all  association  with  the  past.  Better  than  that, 
a  share  in  the  work,  no  matter  how  hard.  Ac- 
cordingly, she  had  dismissed  three  of  the  maids, 
and  had  enlarged  her  household  by  three  new 
members.  And,  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  a 
part  of  the  work  overflowed  upon  Janet. 


30  JANET:   HER    WINTKli 

And  Janet  took  it  bravely.  It  was  not  without 
reason  that  her  brown  eyes  were  resolute,  her  chin 
steady.  For  the  rest,  she  was  past  fourteen,  a 
dark,  thin  little  maiden  whose  eager  face  was 
only  just  beginning  to  show  signs  of  the  beauty 
which  the  next  few  years  would  bring.  In 
temper,  she  was  outwardly  placid;  but  only  up 
to  a  certain  point.  That  point  passed,  the  fires 
beneath  blazed  up  into  flame.  The  two  clauses 
of  her  girlish  creed  were  loving  loyalty  to  her 
mother,  and  utter  adoration  for  her  older  brother. 
For  the  sake  of  those  two  people  and  their  happi- 
ness, Janet  would  accept  all  things  and  make  no 
complaint. 

Most  girls,  however,  would  have  been  less  stoi- 
cal than  Janet,  more  ready  to  feel  that  their  lives 
held  just  cause  for  complaint.  From  a  care-free, 
servant-filled  childhood,  a  childhood  where  pretty 
frocks  abounded  and  where  every  Thursday  after- 
noon held  its  especial  treat,  Janet  suddenly  found 
herself  promoted  to  a  girlhood  where  the  talk  con- 
cerned itself  with  needless  expenses,  where  her 
new  black  frock  must  do  duty  for  two  winters, 
where  Thursday  treats  gave  place  to  Thursday 
toil,  since  the  day  which  aforetime  had  been 
half-holiday  in  the  convent,  was  now  the  day 
when  their  one  servant  took  her  afternoon  out 
and  relegated  to  the  mistress  the  task  of  get- 


IN  QUEBEC  31 


ting  tea  and  dinner.  It  was  much  nicer  to  come 
in,  starved,  for  tea  and  bread  and  butter  beside 
the  parlour  fire  than  it  was  to  spread  the  bread 
and  butter  and  carry  in  the  heavy  tray.  And, 
besides,  there  was  Day. 

Janet  Leslie  was  a  girl,  and  entirely  human. 
Being  that,  she  could  not  fail  to  be  irritated  by 
Day  Argyle.  It  was  not  alone  the  pretty  clothes 
which,  even  in  the  Leslies'  best  days,  would  have 
been  unthinkable  to  Janet;  it  was  not  alone  Day's 
freedom  from  all  care,  her  bright,  blithe  irrespon- 
sibility ;  it  was  not  alone  the  little  air  of  uncon- 
scious patronage  which  crept  into  Day's  manner 
now  and  then.  It  was  no  one  of  these;  but  it 
was  made  up  from  all  three,  and  it  was  com- 
pleted by  the  fashion  in  which  Day  apparently 
sought  to  monopolize  the  thoughts  of  Ronald. 
All  that  past  summer,  Janet  had  sat  by  and 
watched  Ronald's  growing  friendship  with  an- 
other American  girl,  watched  it  without  a  spark 
of  jealousy.  But  Day  was  different. 

"  Save  the  bowl,  Janet!" 

The  girl's  face  cleared  at  the  laughing  admo- 
nition. 

"It  wasn't  just  the  eggs,"  she  answered.  "I 
was  beating  —  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"Things.     Oh,  mummy,  I  do  wish  you  didn't 


32  JANET:   HER    W1NTEU 

have  to  work  so  hard,"  she  burst  out  sud- 
denly. 

Crossing  the  room,  Mrs.  Leslie  rested  her  hands 
on  the  slim  shoulders. 

"  Work  does  n't  hurt  people,  dearie.  It  is  only 
worry  that  hurts;  and  that,  thanks  to  my  good 
children,  is  growing  less,  every  day." 

For  her  reply,  Janet  nestled  her  head  backward 
against  her  mother's  body.  A  long  minute,  they 
rested  there  together.  Then,  with  a  little,  cud- 
dling gesture,  Mrs.  Leslie  caressed  the  brown 
head  and,  letting  go,  crossed  the  room  to  a 
chair.  Janet  eyed  her  dubiously. 

"  But  there  is  a  worry,  mummy.  I  can  see  it  in 
the  edge  of  your  eyes, "  she  urged. 

Mrs.  Leslie  laughed. 

"  Only  in  the  very  edge,  then.  It 's  not  a  real 
worry,  Janet;  only  a  question." 

Janet  pounded  her  eggs  with  renewed  vigour. 

"  Well,  what  does  Day  want  now  ?  "  she  de- 
manded at  length. 

"Day?    Nothing." 

"She  generally  does.  Last  time,  it  was  pink 
soap  to  match  her  toilet  things.  Time  before, 
it  was  half  my  closet,  because  her  own  was  n't 
large  enough  to  hold  her  best  clothes." 

"You  don't  like  Day?" 

"  No. "     The  answer  came  flatly. 


IN  QUEBEC  33 


"I  am  sorry.     I  do." 

"You're  welcome  to  her,"  Janet  observed, 
above  the  clatter  of  the  egg-beater.  "I  don't 
like  Americans." 

Her  mother  smiled. 

"  What  about  Sidney  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Sidney  was  n't  like  any  other  American  girl 
I  ever  knew,"  Janet  responded  with  perfect  truth- 
fulness, inasmuch  as  Sidney  Stayre,  the  past  sum- 
mer, was  only  the  second  American  girl  with  whom 
she  had  ever  come  in  contact.  Then  she  relented. 
"Day  is  well  enough,  mummy,  only  we  don't  get 
on  together.  That  is  all,  truthfully.  We  don't 
fight  at  all.  But  what  is  the  question  ?  " 

For  the  space  of  a  moment,  Mrs.  Leslie  paused 
to  ponder  on  the  innate  antagonism  between  the 
two  young  girls.  Then  she  roused  herself  to  an- 
swer Janet's  query. 

"  Let  me  take  the  eggs,  Janet.  They  are  done, 
I  know.  The  question  is  how  to  stretch  the  house 
to  hold  one  more  person. " 

Janet,  half-way  across  the  kitchen  floor,  halted 
to  stare  at  her  mother  in  consternation. 

"Mummy!     Who  now  ?" 

"Another  Argyle.  Robert,  I  think  his  name 
is." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  " 

"Day's  brother." 


34  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"I  didn't  know  she  had  one,"  Janet  said 
blankly,  as  she  put  the  bowl  into  her  mother's 
hands. 

Mrs.  Leslie,  lifting  the  frothy  eggs  and  watch- 
ing them  drip  back  into  the  bowl,  was  silent. 
Janet  urged  her  words  upon  her  mother's  lag- 
ging attention. 

"  Did  you  know  Day  had  a  brother  ?  " 

"No." 

"  How  queer !  " 

And  Janet,  having  summed  up  the  matter  to 
her  own  satisfaction,  perched  herself  on  the  table 
at  her  mother's  side.  Then  she  renewed  her 
catechism. 

"  Where  is  he  coming  from  ?  " 

"New  York." 

"When?" 

"Week  after  next." 

"To  stay  ?" 

"Yes,  if  it  suits  him." 

"I  hope  it  won't,"  Janet  made  swift  comment. 
"  But  where  will  he  stay  ?  " 

"Here." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  yet  Possibly  in  Ronald's 
room. " 

"Where  could  Ronald  go  ?  " 

"  Up  to  the  top  flat. " 


IN  QUEBEC  35 


Janet  shook  her  head. 

"He  can't,  mummy.  It  would  be  the  finish  of 
him,  after  all  his  hard  day  in  the  office,  if  he  had 
to  give  up  his  room.  Let  the  new  one  go." 

"He  would  n't  like  it,  dear." 

"  Let  him  lump  it,  then ! "  Janet  said  grace- 
lessly.  "  Ronald  must  n't  be  turned  out. "  Then, 
as  she  saw  the  shadow  come  into  her  mother's 
eyes,  "No  matter,"  she  added;  "I'll  go,  myself, 
mummy.  I  'd  just  as  soon,  and  my  room  is  next 
to  Day's,  so  they  can  be  together." 

"  But,  Janet  —  " 

"Truly,  I  don't  mind.  I've  always  liked  to 
be  high  up,  and  that  room  gets  all  the  sun.  I  '11 
move,  to-morrow.  But,  really,  don't  you  think 
it 's  funny  we  never  heard  of  him  ?  How  old 
is  he  ?  " 

"A  little  older  than  Day." 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  Janet  dropped  her  chin  on  her 
fists.  "I  do  hope  he  isn't  quite  so  cranky." 

But  Mrs.  Leslie  looked  up  from  the  bowl  in  her 
hands. 

"Day  isn't  cranky,  dear.     She  is  only  —  " 

"  An  American,  "Janet  said,  with  sudden  vicious- 
ness,  as  she  slid  down  from  the  edge  of  the  table. 
But  she  stopped  beside  her  mother's  chair  and 
threw  her  arms  around  Mrs.  Leslie's  neck.  "  Never 
mind,  mummy,"  she  said  philosophically.  "At 


36  JANI'.T:    HER    WINTER 

least,  he  will  keep  Day  busy,  so  we  sha'n't  be 
troubled  with  either  of  them."  And,  bending 
down  to  kiss  her  mother,  she  went  away  out  of 
the  room,  humming  to  herself  in  determined  dis- 
regard of  the  American  invasion  of  her  home.  As 
a  rule,  Janet  Leslie  was  resolved  to  make  the  best 
of  things,  even  of  the  present  prospect  of  another 
Argyle.  For  the  once,  however,  the  gift  of  proph- 
ecy was  denied  to  her;  and  it  was  with  grim  fore- 
bodings that  she  looked  forward  to  the  weeks  to 
come. 


IN  QUEBEC  37 


CHAPTER  THREE 

"  TANET!  "     There  was  a  rising  inflection  on 

»J      the  call. 

"  Yes. "  The  answer  came  faintly  from  the  top 
of  the  house. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"Settling  down." 

"  Possessions,  or  feelings  ?  "  Ronald  queried 
composedly,  from  his  seat  on  the  stairs  below. 

"  Hush !  "  Janet  came  to  the  door  of  her  room 
and  looked  down  over  the  stairway  rail.  "  Both, 
of  course;  but  don't  mention  it  indiscreetly  at  the 
top  of  your  voice. " 

"1  am  safe;,  the  coast  is  clear.  But  what  a 
beastly  shame  for  you  to  go  aloft!  " 

"No  shame  at  all,"  Janet  protested  stoutly. 
"I  love  the  room;  it  is  only  such  a  tiresome 
thing,  the  putting  my  clothes  away." 

"Shall  I  help?"  he  offered,  though  without 
troubling  himself  to  stir. 

She  laughed  down  into  his  merry  dark  eyes. 

"  You !  "  she  said  scornfully. 


38  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  At  least,  I  'd  be  quicker  than 
you." 

"But  there  's  no  hurry,"  she  answered.  "I  've 
all  the  week  to  move.  The  new  youth  won't  coine 
till  Saturday." 

"  For  which  be  thanked !  "  Ronald  observed  de- 
voutly. "Look  here,  Janet,  do  you  think  he  will 
be  any  addition  to  the  family  party  ?  " 

Swiftly  she  held  up  a  warning  finger. 

"No;  they've  gone  out,"  Ronald  repeated. 
"Still,  the  walls  have  ears,  and  I  suppose  it 
is  n't  wise  to  imperil  the  family  butcher  bill. 
What  did  you  say  you  were  doing  ?  " 

"Moving,  to  make  room  for  the  nabob,"  Janet 
answered,  and,  for  the  life  of  her,  she  could  not 
keep  an  edge  of  bitterness  from  her  voice. 

Ronald  rose  and  stretched  himself. 

"Let  it  go,  and  come  out  for  a  turn  on  the 
terrace,"  he  suggested. 

"  I  'd  rather  -  "  Janet  demurred ;  then,  as  she 
looked  down  at  the  tired  lines  about  her  brother's 
lips,  she  relented.  "1  '11  be  ready,  in  a  few  min- 
utes," she  said. 

"  Good  child !  Put  on  something  warm,  though. 
I  '11  go  and  tell  the  mater  we  are  starting."  And 
Ronald  vanished  by  way  of  the  drawing-room  door. 

He  found  his  mother  seated  by  the  table  in  the 
library,  darning  his  socks ;  and  the  pitiless  glare 


IN  QUEBEC  39 


of  the  electric  lamp  by  her  side  showed  him  the 
two  deep  wrinkles  which  the  past  month  had  cut 
into  her  face.  With  a  sudden  protecting  ges- 
ture, he  flung  his  arm  across  her  shoulder,  as  he 
seated  himself  on  the  arm  of  her  chair;  but  he 
only  said,  — 

"Janet  doesn't  appear  to  fancy  the  idea  of  the 
new  Argyle. " 

"Not  really.  I  suppose  it  is  because  she  and 
Day  can't  seem  to  hit  it  off,"  Mrs.  Leslie  said 
slowly.  "  How  does  the  idea  strike  you,  Ronald  ?  " 

"As  if  it  were  in  the  bargain,  and  we  could  n't 
get  out  of  it,"  he  answered  whimsically.  "Hav- 
ing let  in  three  Argyles,  we  can't  well  stand  out 
on  a  fourth." 

"  And,  after  all,  he  may  be  —  " 

"He  probably  is,"  Ronald  interrupted  placidly. 
"My  only  fear  is  he  is  too  much  so." 

The  eyes  of  mother  and  son  met,  and  they  both 
laughed. 

"I'm  sorry,  dear  boy,"  Mrs.  Leslie  said  then. 
"I  don't  mind  it;  but  it  is  a  bit  hard  on  you  and 
Janet,  now  that  you  have  to  count  your  pennies 
and  your  postage  stamps,  to  be  thrown  in  this 
close  connection  with  a  girl  like  Day  who  never 
counts  the  cost  of  anything." 

Ronald  shook  his  head. 

•' There  are  a  few  others,"  he  suggested.    " None 


40  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

of  our  friends  arc  exactly  frugal.  It  is  only  that 
they  haven't  the  same  trick  of  throwing  their 
money  at  one." 

"I  know,"  his  mother  assented.  "I  am  sorry. 
I  wish  it  were  n't  necessary. " 

But  Ronald  rose  and  squared  his  shoulders. 

"It  is  necessary,  though,  and  a  mighty  good 
thing  for  us  that  they  like  the  place  and  can 
afford  to  pay  for  it,"  he  replied,  as  he  crossed 
to  the  fire-place.  "It  comes  high,  this  boarding 
with  Quebec's  elect.  I  only  hope  they  appreciate 
the  advantages  they  are  getting  for  their  money." 

Mrs.  Leslie  laughed. 

"  I  suspect  they  don't. " 

Ronald  faced  her  sharply. 

"Why?" 

"Because  Mrs.  Argyle  has  asked  me  to  serve 
her  tea  in  her  own  room." 

"Oh  I"  Ronald's  cadence  was  a  falling  one. 
"So  she  needn't  meet  the  friends  of  her  land- 
lady ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so. " 

And  then  Ronald  laughed,  laughed  with  a  boy- 
ish, big-bodied  appreciation  of  the  joke.  Mrs. 
Leslie,  in  her  recent  mourning,  was  not  receiv- 
ing just  then.  Nevertheless,  her  drawing-room 
was  a  meeting-ground  for  the  many  old  friends 
who  could  not  afford  to  miss  her  out  of  their 


IN  QUEBEC  41 


busy  lives.  And,  moreover,  these  friends  were 
not  of  a  class  to  hold  out  eager  hands  to  stranger 
Americans.  The  quaint  little  old  city  has  a  trick 
of  refusing  to  open  her  social  doors  to  foreign 
gold. 

"Let  her,"  he  said  tersely  at  length.  "And 
yet,  do  you  know,  I  am  sorry  for  Day." 

Mrs.  Leslie  threaded  her  needle.  Then  she 
looked  up. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  it,  Ronald.  Day  is 
a  good  girl." 

"And  a  bright  one,"  Ronald  added.  "I  wish 
she  and  Janet  would  take  to  each  other." 

"Give  them  time,"  his  mother  suggested. 
"  Girls  are  slow  to  get  acquainted,  and  they 
have  only  known  each  other  for  three  weeks." 

"  But  in  the  same  house.  And,  besides  — " 
Ronald  hesitated. 

From  over  her  work,  his  mother  looked  up  at 
him  keenly. 

"Well,  son?" 

He  frowned  intently  at  the  cuff  on  the  arm 
which  rested  against  the  mantel. 

"  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  blame  Janet,  either, "  he 
said  slowly.  "I  like  Day,  myself;  I  like  to  have 
her  about.  She  is  good  fun,  and  she  knows  how 
to  take  chaff  without  losing  her  temper.  But  with 
Janet  —  "  He  abandoned  his  cuff  and  faced  his 


42  JANET:    HER    WINTER 

mother  directly.  "Has  it  ever  seemed  to  you  that 
Day  was  a  little  top-loftical  with  Janet  ?  " 

His  mother  nodded. 

"  Yes.     And  you  have  noticed  it,  too  ?  " 

"Noticed  it,  and  hated  it,"  Ronald  answered 
briefly.  "I  can't  understand  it,  either." 

"I  can,"  Mrs.  Leslie  said. 

"  What  ?  "     The  question  came  sharply. 

"  That  Day  regards  Janet  as  merely  the  child  of 
her  landlady."  Mrs.  Leslie's  tone,  instead  of  bit- 
terness, held  only  quiet  amusement. 

Ronald  spun  about  on  his  heel. 

"What  rot  I  "  he  said  sharply. 

"No;  not  altogether,"  his  mother  demurred. 
"The  fact  is,  she  is  right.  The  Argyles  came 
here,  strangers,  to  board  with  us.  There  is  no  need 
for  them  to  consider  themselves  as  our  friends." 

"Mercifully  not,"  Ronald  assented. 

"But  you  said  you  liked  Day,"  his  mother  re- 
minded him. 

"So  I  do.  She  is  bright  and  pretty  and  good 
fun  to  have  in  the  house.  Still,  if  she  is  going  to 
be  hateful  to  Janet,  I  won't  have  anything  to  do 
with  her." 

"Janet  can  take  care  of  herself,"  that  young 
person  observed  from  the  doorway.  "You  need  n't 
worry  about  me,  brother.  There  are  other  girls 
besides  Day  Argyle." 


IN  QUEBEC  43 


"I  know  that,"  Ronald  said  a  little  moodily. 
"  Still,  there  are  n't  many  who  might  be  better 
fun  to  know.  I  hate,  though,  this  liking  people 
with  mental  reservations.  Day  is  a  good,  all- 
round  sort  of  girl,  if  only  she  would  treat  you  a 
little  better." 

Janet's  chin  rose  in  the  air. 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  a  question  of  how  she 
treated  me,"  she  said  conclusively. 

Ronald  laughed,  as  he  never  failed  to  do,  when 
Janet  took  that  tone. 

"  Come  down  off  your  high  horse,  before  it  balks 
and  spills  you,"  he  admonished  his  sister.  "We 
all  of  us  know  that  Day  is  n't  too  polite  to  you. 
Moreover,  we  none  of  us  know  why  I  haven't 
come  in  for  a  share  of  the  same  manners." 

But  Janet  smiled  mockingly. 

"Look  in  your  glass,"  she  advised  him,  from 
the  arm  of  her  mother's  chair  where  she  had 
perched  herself. 

It  was  still  early,  so  early  that  the  Basilica 
bells  were  clashing  across  the  evening  air,  when 
the  two  young  Leslies  stepped  out  into  the  street. 
The  stars  glittered  frostily  above  them,  and  low 
over  the  Saint  Louis  Gate  hung  the  thread-like 
crescent  of  a  baby  moon.  Nine  times,  Janet  made 
grave  obeisance  to  the  moon;  then  she  turned 
and  caught  her  hand  through  her  brother's  arm. 


44  JANET;    HER    WINTER 


"Money  in  your  pocket,  Ronald?"  she  queried 


By  way  of  answer,  he  drew  out  a  copper  penny, 
waved  it  before  her  eyes  and  then  returned  it  to 
his  pocket,  clanking  it  ostentatiously  against  its 
fellows. 

"Safe  for  this  month,  Janet,"  he  reassured  her 
then.  "  That  's  where  we  fellows  score.  You 
girls  haven't  any  pockets." 

"At  least,  then,  we  don't  have  to  worry  about 
our  pockets  being  empty,"  she  retorted.  "Oh, 
what  a  night!  Let's  run!" 

With  a  laugh,  Ronald  brought  his  sister  to  a 
standstill  beneath  one  of  the  electric  lights. 

"What  a  romp  you  are,  Janet!"  he  said,  in 
mock  rebuke. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  returned  undauntedly.  "  I  '11 
race  you  up  the  terrace  and  back,  and  beat  you, 
too." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  he  cautioned  her. 

"You'll  do  it?"  she  queried  eagerly  for,  of 
late,  Ronald  had  been  slow  about  sharing  in 
her  childish  pranks. 

"  Sure.     That  is,  unless  there  are  people  about.  " 

"Come,  then,"  she  urged.  "Jf  we  hurry,  we 
can  get  there  before  anybody  else  is  out.  It  's 
cold,  and  I  feel  funny,  and  I  want  to  run  fast, 
fast." 


IN  QUEBEC  45 


"You'd  better  save  your  breath,"  he  advised 
her.  Nevertheless,  he  yielded  to  her  repeated 
tuggings  at  his  elbow  and,  side  by  side,  they 
faced  about  and  directed  their  steps  towards  the 
terrace.  Only  once  on  the  way  Janet  spoke. 

"  If  Sidney  were  only  here !  "  she  said. 

And  Ronald  made  regretful  answer,  — 

"But  she  is  n't." 

At  the  corner  of  the  Ring,  they  met  the  Argyles. 
Day,  walking  slightly  ahead  of  her  parents,  was 
the  first  to  see  them.  She  hailed  Ronald  eagerly. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"Just  up  to  the  terrace." 

"Lovely!     I '11  go  with  you." 

Notwithstanding  Janet's  furtive  pinches  on  his 
arm,  Ronald  made  prompt  answer,  as  he  was  in 
duty  bound  to  do. 

"  That 's  good.  We  were  longing  for  exercise, 
and  missed  you  when  we  came  out"  Then,  hat 
in  hand,  he  faced  Mrs.  Argyle.  "You'll  trust 
Day  to  our  care,  I  hope,"  he  added. 

Mrs.  Argyle's  face,  at  rest,  was  a  bit  cold.  It 
lighted  now,  however,  as  it  never  failed  to  do 
when  her  eyes  rested  upon  Ronald  Leslie's  face. 

"I  always  know  that  Day  is  safe,  when  she  is 
in  your  hands,"  she  said  cordially.  "Don't  stay 
too  late,  Day,  and  don't  take  cold." 

"I  like  that  boy,"  she  added   to  her  husband, 


46  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

as  they  went  on  their  way.  "He  is  manly  and 
well-bred,  and  abnormally  handsome.  Mrs.  Leslie, 
too,  is  n't  like  the  usual  type  of  boarding-house 
keepers." 

"But  it's  not  a  boarding-house,"  her  husband 
objected.  "  And,  you  know,  John  said  —  " 

"John!"  Mrs.  Argyle's  tone  was  expressive. 
"  He  always  has  a  pensioner  or  two  on  his  hands, 
and  I  stopped  listening  to  his  pitiful  tales,  years 
and  years  ago.  Still,  I  must  confess  that  we 
were  fortunate  to  get  into  such  a  charming  old 
house. " 

"  What  about  Rob  ?  "  Mr.  Argyle  asked,  for  he 
had  but  just  returned  from  a  week  in  Montreal. 
"  Did  she  object  to  taking  him  ?  " 

"At  first,  she  said  she  couldn't;  but  I  finally 
argued  her  into  it.  He  is  to  have  Janet's  room." 

"  What  becomes  of  Janet  ?  "  her  husband  asked 
practically. 

"  She  goes  upstairs,  somewhere  or  other.  These 
old  houses  seem  to  have  endless  room  in  them. 
Still,  you  must  admit  that  it  was  a  good  thing 
that  I  never  had  happened  to  speak  of  Rob's 
coming."  Mrs.  Argyle  laughed  lightly.  "It  was 
the  merest  chance  that  I  hadn't;  but  his  plans 
were  so  uncertain  that  I  thought  I  'd  best  wait. 
If  she  had  heard  of  him  in  the  first  of  it,  I  am 
sure  she  would  never  have  taken  any  of  us  in; 


IN  QUEBEC  47 


and  I  am  too  comfortable  there,  to  be  willing  to 
move." 

"And  Rob  comes  ?  "  Mr.  Argyle  said  interroga- 
tively. 

"  Saturday  noon. " 

"I  am  glad.     If  only  he  is  better!  " 

And,  meanwhile,  up  on  the  deserted  terrace, 
Day  had  been  voicing  the  same  wish. 

"  Not  heard  of  Rob  ?  "  she  said.    "  How  strange !  " 

Ronald  laughed. 

"That  is  what  we  have  been  thinking,"  he  said 
frankly. 

"  But  I  supposed  my  mother  had  told  you  he  was 
coming." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  ?  "  Janet  asked,  with  crisp 
pertinence,  from  her  place  at  Ronald's  other 
side. 

"  I  ?  Why,  really,  I  don't  know.  Because  girls 
don't  talk  much  about  their  brothers,  I  suppose." 

"But  I  do,"  Janet  returned  a  little  shortly. 

Day  laughed  good-naturedly.  Her  content- 
ment, pacing  the  vast  sweep  of  boards  in  time 
to  Ronald's  rhythmic  tread,  was  too  complete  to 
be  easily  ruffled. 

"So  I  have  observed,"  she  assented.  "In 
America,  we  usually  leave  our  boys  to  speak  for 
themselves." 

She  was  quite  without  intention  of  bitterness. 


48  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

Nevertheless,  Ronald  interposed,  for  he  was  quick 
to  feel  the  undernote  of  antagonism  between  the 
two  girls,  and  liking  Day  and  adoring  Janet,  he 
was  anxious  to  have  them  friends. 

"  And  so  you  have  brought  your  American  man- 
ners into  Canada  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Why  not  ?  Besides,  I  have  an  idea  that  Rob 
would  prefer  not  to  have  me  discuss  him." 

"  Because  ?  "  Ronald  inquired. 

However,  Janet  broke  in  with  a  question. 

"Then  you  've  known,  all  the  time,  that  he  was 
coining  ?  " 

"  We  were  n't  sure  he  'd  be  able. " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  Janet  obviously  was 
resolved  to  push  her  investigations  to  a  satisfac- 
tory finale. 

"Whether  the  doctor  would  let  him  come." 

"Why  not?  Is  he  —  delicate  ?"  Janet  de- 
manded, with  the  sudden  appetite  of  girlhood 
for  a  languid  hero. 

Day's  laugh  cut  the  air  with  a  mirth  which  in- 
fected Ronald,  although  he  had  not  the  least  idea 
what  was  the  cause  of  her  merriment. 

"Rob  delicate!  "  she  echoed,  when  she  could 
speak.  "You  should  see  him." 

"Then  what  does  he  have  a  doctor  for  ?  " 

Day  sobered  suddenly. 

"His  leg.     He  was  half  through   Exeter  and 


IN   QUEBEC  49 


making  a  splendid  record,  just  in  the  thick  of 
everything.  He  was  so  big  they  put  him  on 
the  football  team,  and  he  was  awfully  hurt  in 
one  of  the  scrimmages.  They  say  he  saved 
the  game,  though,"  she  added,  with  obvious 
pride. 

"  Poor  chap !  That 's  lean  satisfaction, "  Ronald 
made  grave  comment. 

Day  smiled,  partly  in  her  content  with  her 
brother's  prowess,  partly  in  amusement  at  Ron- 
ald's colonial  viewpoint. 

"You'd  better  not  say  that  to  Rob,"  she  ad- 
vised him. 

But  Janet  still  pursued  her  investigations. 

"  What  did  it  do  to  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Nobody  seems  quite  sure.  It  did  something 
to  the  tendons,  they  think.  It  happened  just  a 
year  ago ;  and,  ever  since,  he  has  been  under  the 
care  of  the  best  man  in  New  York.  He  has  had 
to  stay  right  in  the  city,  all  summer  long,  and 
take  all  manner  of  treatments  and  things.  We 
supposed  he  would  have  to  be  there,  all  winter; 
but,  last  week,  he  wrote  that  the  doctor  said  he 
might  come  up  here  for  a  while.  Mother  is 
worried  to  death.  She  does  n't  know  whether 
it  means  he  is  better,  or  whether  the  doctor  has 
given  up  the  case." 

"  Why  does  n't  she  ask  him  ?  " 

4 


50  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  Rob,  or  the  doctor  ?  " 

"  Your  brother. " 

And  Day  made  unhesitating  answer,  — 

"Because  it  would  n't  do  any  good.  Rob  never 
would  tell,  if  he  were  n't  better." 

And  Ronald  again  made  comment,  — 

"Poor  chap!" 

Day  laughed. 

"You  'd  best  not  say  that  to  him,"  she  advised 
again.  "  Rob  hates  being  pitied. " 

"A  fellow  can't  help  being  sorry,  though," 
Ronald  said  bluntly.  "How  much  does  it  knock 
him  out  ?  " 

"He's  out  of  school,  of  course;  and  he  can't 
play  football,  nor  dance,  nor  walk  much  —  at 
least,  he  could  n't,  when  I  saw  him.  He  may 
have  gained  since  then,  though." 

"  How  long  since  you  have  seen  him  ?  " 

"Not  since  the  first  week  in  June.  We  came 
here  straight  from  the  country,  you  know." 

"Day  Argyle!" 

Ronald  felt  the  explosion  coming;  but  not 
even  his  warning  pressure  on  Janet's  arm  could 
suppress  it.  •* 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  "  Day  queried  unconcern- 
edly, while  she  changed  the  position  of  one  of 
the  pins  in  her  hat. 

"Nothing,"  Janet  said  shortly.     "Only,  if  he 


IN  QUEBEC  51 


were  my  brother,  I  would  n't  go  off  to  the  country 
for  six  months,  without  seeing  him." 

"But  it  wasn't  so  long,"  Day  corrected  her. 
"  It  is  n't  five  months  yet.  Besides,  what  good 
would  I  do  ?  Of  course,  my  father  saw  him,  every 
few  days,  and  my  mother  went  down  to  the  city 
for  a  week,  before  we  came  up  here.  She  had  to 
get  clothes  and  things,  and  then  she  wanted  to 
see  Rob  for  herself." 

"Naturally."  Then  Janet's  mouth  shut  with  a 
snap. 

To  her  own  surprise,  Day  felt  a  sudden  need  to 
justify  herself. 

"  I  'd  have  gone,  if  Rob  had  wanted  me,  or  if  I 
could  have  done  him  any  good,"  she  said,  with  the 
slow  gravity  which,  to  Ronald's  mind,  marked  her 
sweetest  moods.  "  I  love  Rob ;  he  's  a  darling  and 
I  think  he  is  fond  of  me,  but  we  generally  go  our 
own  ways.  He  is  all  boy,  does  n't  care  for  girls 
nor  girl  things,  only  to  criticise  my  clothes,  when 
they  don't  suit  him." 

"Oh,"  Janet  said  shrewdly.     "I  begin  to  see. 
You  fight." 

Day  hesitated.  Then,  instead  of  being  irritated 
by  Janet's  persistence,  she  spoke  frankly  and  with 
a  little  tone  of  sadness. 

"No,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "Sometimes,  I 
wish  we  did;  it  would  bring  us  closer  together. 


52  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

When  we  were  children,  I  've  heard  mother  tell, 
we  used  to  squabble,  one  minute,  and  love  each 
other  to  distraction,  the  next.  Then  mother 
went  abroad,  and  took  me,  and  Rob  went  away 
to  school.  That  lasted  for  two  years,  and,  since 
I  came  home,  we  have  never  been  together  much, 
nor  seemed  to  be  able  to  get  at  each  other.  I  am 
fond  of  him;  but  I  'm  afraid  of  him.  He  does  n't 
seem  to  me  like  my  own  brother  really,  but  more 
like  a  visitor,  when  he  comes  home.  We  are  n't 
nearly  as  much  related  as  you  two  are.  And  then, 
most  of  this  last  year,  he  's  been  in  hospital  or  his 
room,  and  I  've  been  in  school,  all  day  long.  And 
so  —  "  Abruptly  she  stopped  her  earnest  speak- 
ing, stopped  it  to  hide  the  little  break  which  so 
rarely  came  into  her  gay  young  voice. 

In  utter  silence,  they  walked  the  length  of  the 
terrace.  When  Day  spoke  again,  it  was  with  a 
laugh;  but  the  laugh  was  plainly  forced. 

"  I  really  don't  see  why  I  have  told  you  all  this 
stuff,"  she  said  apologetically. 

Swiftly  Janet  stepped  to  her  side,  linked  her 
arm  in  the  arm  of  Day  and  gave  it  a  little 
squeeze. 

"Because  you  knew  we  'd  be  sorry  and  like  to 
help,"  she  said  rather  incoherently,  but  with  a 
tone  she  had  never  used  to  Day  until  that  hour. 


IN   QUEBEC  53 


CHAPTER   FOUR 

HALL  you  wish  breakfast  at  Dudswell 
Junction  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

"But  I  must  telegraph  for  it,  over  night." 

"But  really  I  can't  tell  till  I  see  it." 

The  Pullman  conductor,  whose  broad  shoulders 
and  level  eyes  betrayed  the  fact  that  he  had  worn 
the  Queen's  uniform,  looked  down  at  his  passenger 
with  some  amusement.  Was  it  for  the  defence 
of  the  rights  of  such  an  one  as  this  that  he  had 
offered  himself  to  Mauser  bullets  ?  Then  stead- 
fastly he  forced  the  amusement  out  of  his  eyes. 

"I  must  ask  you  to  decide,  before  you  go  to 
bed." 

"But  I  'm  not  going  to  bed,"  was  the  surprising 
answer. 

"  Not  going  to  bed  ?  " 

"Oh,  no.  I  may  lie  down  for  a  bit;  but  I 
really  sha'n't  undress  at  all." 

From  his  place  across  the  aisle,  a  boy  looked  up 
from  his  magazine.  He  too  was  big  and  blond 


54  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

and  straight  of  shoulder  and  of  eye.  Unlike  the 
conductor,  however,  he  saw  no  need  to  repress  the 
mirth  which  assailed  him  at  the  detailed  utter- 
ances of  his  British  neighbour. 

All  the  way  from  New  York,  Rob  Argyle  had 
been  gloating  over  the  unconscious  humour  of  that 
neighbour,  over  his  accent,  his  clothing,  over  his 
wonderful  amount  of  hand  luggage.  Rob,  carry- 
ing a  suitcase  and  leaning  rather  heavily  on  the 
stick  in  his  hand,  had  sought  the  Pullman  ticket 
office  in  the  Grand  Central  Station  at  New  York. 
To  his  obvious  impatience,  his  pathway  had  been 
blocked  by  a  heap  of  luggage,  a  porter  and  a 
diminutive  Englishman  with  an  utterance  which 
seemed  to  be  chiefly  composed  of  the  letter  A,  and 
that  at  the  widest  possible  span. 

"Oh ;  but  really  I  can't,"  he  was  remonstrating. 

"Change  at  Springfield,"  the  clerk  reiterated 
mechanically. 

"  Get  out  of  one  car  and  get  into  another  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"But  I  can't." 

The  clerk  tapped  on  the  desk  before  him. 

"There  is  no  through  train." 

"Oh;  but  there  should  be." 

"Possibly." 

The  Englishman's  face  lighted  with  sudden 
hope. 


IN  QUEBEC  55 


"You  mean  there  possibly  will  be  ?  " 

"No." 

"  And  I  must  change  out  of  one  car  into  another 
just  like  it  ?  " 

Patiently  the  clerk  set  himself  to  explain. 

"  You  can  have  a  drawing-room  car  to  Spring- 
field. There  you  will  get  the  Quebec  sleeper." 

"  Oh.  And  what  will  I  do  with  it,  when  I  do 
get  it  ?  " 

Not  even  ten  years  of  answering  wholly  inane 
questions  could  blunt  the  clerk's  appreciation  of 
this  one.  Nevertheless,  his  tone  was  dry,  as  he 
said  tersely,  — 

"  Move  in. " 

"  Yes.     But  who  will  carry  my  luggage  ?  " 

And  the  clerk  made  unfeeling  answer,  — 

"Lug  it,  yourself."  Then  he  turned  to  meet 
Rob's  eye.  "  To  Springfield  ?  Yes.  And  a 
berth  reserved  to  Quebec?  Yes.  Very  well." 

But  once  more  the  Englishman  spoke. 

"Oh,  I  say,  will  you  please  be  so  good  as  to 
reserve  me  a  berth,  too  ?  " 

"  What  name  ?  " 

The  Englishman  dived  into  his  pockets  for  a 
card;  but  the  card  eluded  his  gloved  fingers. 

"  What  name  ?  "  the  clerk  iterated  unfeelingly. 
"  You  'd  better  hurry.  It  is  time  for  your 
train." 


56  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

His  hat  wildly  askew  and  his  glass  screwed  into 
his  right  eye,  the  Englishman  faced  back  to  the 
window. 

"Porteous,"  he  said.  "Sir  George  Portcous. " 
Then,  at  the  heels  of  the  porter,  he  followed  Roh 
out  to  the  train. 

It  was  with  feelings  of  unmixed  satisfaction 
that  Rob  saw  the  conductor  leading  Sir  George 
Porteous  to  the  chair  next  his  own.  Rob's 
humour  was  always  ready  for  new  sources  of 
mirth;  his  two-minute  study  of  the  Englishman 
convinced  him  that  here  would  be  an  unfailing 
source.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  his  satisfaction  gave 
place  to  gloomy  foreboding.  The  conductor  car- 
ried a  suitcase;  Sir  George  Porteous  was  followed 
by  the  porter  from  his  hotel,  bearing  two  bags  and 
a  steamer-rug;  and  the  hotel  porter  was  followed 
in  his  turn  by  the  porter  of  the  car,  and  the  porter 
of  the  car  carried  an  overcoat,  a  raincoat,  a  rifle- 
case  and  a  vast,  unwieldy  budget  cased  in  tartan 
drilling  and  bound  up  with  a  shawlstrap.  And  Rob 
had  a  suitcase  of  his  own,  and,  moreover,  his  lame 
leg  demanded  plenty  of  room  on  this,  its  first  jour- 
ney. The  doctor  had  warned  him  to  be  careful, 
and  Rob's  own  recent  experience  of  plaster  band- 
ages had  added  force  to  the  warning.  With  his  un- 
injured leg,  he  gave  a  surreptitious  kick  at  the 
tartan-covered  budget  which  threatened  to  topple 


77V  QUEBEC  57 

over  on  his  knees.  Then  he  barricaded  himself 
with  his  suitcase  and  his  stick,  and  prepared  to 
enjoy  himself  as  best  he  might. 

Had  the  truth  been  told,  Rob  Argyle  was  in  a 
position  where  his  salvation  lay  in  his  sense  of 
humour,  in  its  happy  trick  of  extracting  fun  from 
the  most  commonplace  of  situations.  Otherwise, 
Rob's  existence  would  have  been  rather  a  bore, 
just  then.  For  two  entirely  happy  years,  his 
school  life  had  centered  in  making  a  good  enough 
record  in  his  classes  to  balance  his  increasing 
prowess  in  athletics.  Already  he  was  captain  of 
his  crew  and  quarterback  on  his  football  team; 
already,  though  college  was  still  two  years  off,  his 
dreams  were  pointing  towards  a  'varsity  football 
team  of  the  future,  when,  with  a  sudden  snap,  his 
dream  was  shattered  and  he  awoke.  His  cap  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  and  the  brown  pigskin  cud- 
dled into  the  curve  of  his  arm,  he  had  marched 
away  to  the  field,  on  the  day  of  the  Andover 
game,  determined  to  make  a  record,  or  die  in 
the  attempt.  He  came  near  achieving  both  ends 
in  the  same  hour.  As  he  went  down  in  the  heart 
of  a  scrimmage,  even  before  things  grew  black 
about  him,  his  ears  were  humming  with  the 
sound  of  many  voices  shrieking  his  name  in 
frantic  chorus. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  he  did  not  die.     He  was 


58  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

pulled  out  from  the  bottom  layer  of  a  heap  of 
kicking,  squirming  boys,  carried  off  the  field 
and  given  the  rough  and  ready  care  that  goes 
with  such  events.  That  night,  he  went  to  the 
football  supper,  hilarious  as  ever,  although  he 
confessed  to  a  dozen  bruises  and  a  queer  feeling 
in  his  leg.  It  was  not  until  a  week  later  that  the 
authorities  of  the  school  succeeded  in  convincing 
him  that  it  was  time  he  started  for  home  and  a 
specialist. 

Since  the  night,  eleven  months  before,  when  the 
cab  had  deposited  him  at  his  own  front  steps,  Rob 
Argyle  had  been  gritting  his  teeth  and  training 
himself  to  live  upon  the  memory  of  his  past 
prowess.  He  had  been  plucky  and,  for  the  most 
part,  good-tempered.  Nevertheless,  in  looking 
backward,  he  was  forced  to  admit  to  himself 
that  the  time  had  dragged  heavily.  There  had 
been  five  months  of  hospital  and  of  a  daily  treat- 
ment which  had  been  a  pain  to  the  flesh  and  a 
bore  to  the  soul;  there  had  been  three  months 
in  his  room,  with  the  doctor  dropping  in  at  odd 
hours  and  performing  strange  tricks  with  a  knee 
which  declined  to  bend;  there  had  been  three 
more  months  in  a  boarding-house,  after  the  last 
of  his  family  had  migrated  to  the  country.  Rob 
had  urged  their  going  away.  He  hated  do- 
mestic coddling  with  a  furious  and  holy  hatred. 


IN  QUEBEC  59 

To  his  present  point  of  view,  it  mattered  little 
to  Rob  that  the  doctor,  after  long  months  of  in- 
decision, had  hinted  that,  with  proper  care,  he 
might  have  a  well  leg  in  time.  Time  was  finite, 
when  it  was  a  question  of  college  athletics;  and 
the  deliberations  of  a  specialist,  as  Rob  had 
learned  to  his  cost,  were  infinite.  He  sought  to 
beguile  the  hours  by  reading  treatises  on  football 
or  rowing,  and  the  many  stories  in  which  sports 
play  an  important  part.  He  usually  ended  by 
throwing  the  books  on  the  floor,  with  an  un- 
worded  regret  that,  in  place  of  the  floor,  he 
could  not  substitute  the  writer's  head.  What 
was  the  use  of  books  to  a  fellow  who  knew  all 
about  it,  far  more  than  did  the  writers,  and 
was,  all  at  once  and  for  no  obvious  reason,  cut 
out  of  the  game  ?  Moreover,  Rob  had  always 
been  prone  to  regard  books  as  a  means  to  an 
end.  Plainly  and  without  wasted  words,  his 
father  had  told  him,  at  the  end  of  his  first 
month  in  Exeter,  that  he  could  keep  on  with 
athletics  only  just  so  long  as  his  standing  in  his 
classes  gave  satisfaction  to  the  school  and  family 
powers.  Like  most  healthy  boys,  Rob  took  his 
Greek  as  a  pill,  and  sugar-coated  it  with  sports. 

And  now  ?  Forgetting  his  British  neighbour, 
he  crossed  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  head  and 
stared  out  at  the  acres  of  brown  salt  marshland. 


60  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Football  was  not,  nor  yet  rowing.  Possibly  they 
never  again  would  be.  His  lip  curled  scornfully 
at  a  momentary  picture  of  himself,  dawdling  over 
interminable  golf  links  and  pottering  about  after 
a  two-inch  ball.  And,  as  yet,  even  that  was 
beyond  him.  What  could  he  do  ?  Whistling 
softly,  he  considered  the  situation. 

Slowly  and  with  care,  he  could  walk  about  the 
house,  and  even  for  short  distances  outside.  He 
could  not  dance,  so  what  was  the  use  of  going  to 
parties,  even  suppose  he  was  lucky  enough  to  be 
invited  to  any,  in  this  strange  city  where  his 
winter  was  to  be  spent.  Then  he  checked  him- 
self abruptly.  After  all,  he  was  getting  back  to 
the  things  he  could  not  do ;  and  it  was  much  more 
in  keeping  with  his  ideas  to  count  the  things  he 
could.  At  least,  he  was  out  of  hospital,  and  able 
to  get  about  again.  And,  as  his  mind  went  back 
to  that  cheering  crowd  which  had  witnessed  his 
downfall,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  it  all  had 
been  worth  the  while  —  almost. 

Besides,  there  was  Day.  Strangely  enough, 
this  would  be  the  first  winter  for  years  that  the 
brother  and  sister  had  spent  in  the  same  house. 
Europe  and  school  and  finally  the  hospital  had 
come  in  between.  As  a  child,  Rob  had  adored 
his  little  sister.  In  fact,  it  was  he  who  had 
given  her  her  name,  substituting  it  for  the  prim 


IN  QUEBEC  61 


Aurora  which,  in  company  with  a  mammoth  silver 
urn,  she  had  inherited  from  an  ancient  aunt.  In 
their  youngest  days,  they  had  squabbled  and  made 
up  without  cease,  finding  their  worst  punishment 
in  the  separation  which  followed  on  the  heels  of 
their  more  vigorous  quarrels.  Together  they  had 
devised  and  executed  many  a  prank,  had  invented 
games  without  number  and,  best  of  all,  cuddled 
together  on  the  old  sofa  in  the  upstairs  hall,  they 
had  exchanged  confidences  and  dreamed  dreams 
of  a  future  when  Rob  should  be  a  famous  poet, 
or  else  a  locomotive  engineer,  and  Day  should 
cook  griddlecakes  for  his  supper,  when  he  came 
home,  tired,  at  night.  And  then  Europe  had 
swallowed  Day,  and  brought  the  end  of  it  all. 

Since  then,  they  had  gone  their  different  ways. 
Really,  it  was  surprising  how  little  they  had  seen 
of  each  other,  least  of  all  during  that  last  winter 
when  Rob's  hospital  and  Day's  young  gayeties  had 
raised  a  double  barrier  against  their  united  inter- 
ests. It  was  surprising,  too,  how  little  Rob  re- 
gretted the  fact,  how  little  he  missed  Day  out  of 
his  life.  In  reality,  when  he  thought  of  his  sister 
at  all,  it  was  as  the  curly-headed  child  who  used 
to  snuggle  against  his  shoulder,  not  as  the  dainty, 
unruffled  maiden  in  the  gray  fur  coat  and  the  fluffy 
feathers,  the  maiden  who  came,  now  and  then,  to 
sit  down  by  his  narrow  bed  and  say  polite  things 


62  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

about  being  sorry.  And  yet,  underneath  all  the 
oppression  of  the  fluffy  finery  and  all  the  polite- 
ness, Rob  Argyle  held  firmly  to  the  notion  that 
Day  would  be  a  good  comrade,  if  one  only  knew 
how  to  get  acquainted  with  her.  Perhaps  his 
chance  was  coming  now. 

Only  the  dropping  sun,  carving  a  golden  trail 
across  the  brown  sea  marshes,  saw  the  sudden 
gentling  of  Rob's  keen  blue  eyes.  For  himself, 
Rob  hated  coddling.  Nevertheless,  on  one  of 
his  holidays  spent  in  the  home  of  his  chum,  he 
had  seen  a  younger  sister  perch  herself  on  the 
chum's  knee  and  twist  his  hair,  while  she  talked 
nonsense  into  his  ears.  It  had  looked  good  fun, 
and  Rob  had  felt  strangely  out  of  it.  He  remem- 
bered it  now  with  a  slight  pang.  Day,  in  her  gray 
fur  coat,  would  have  been  such  a  good  little  bundle 
to  hold,  if  only  she  had  perched  herself  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  in  reach  of  his  strong  young 
arms.  But  quite  likely  she  had  never  thought 
of  it.  Impatiently  he  moved  his  chair  to  get 
the  dazzle  out  of  his  eyes,  and  the  sun,  striking 
across  his  forehead,  turned  his  hair  from  yellow 
to  a  tawny  red. 

He  had  had  one  letter  from  Day,  since  she  had 
reached  Quebec.  It  had  smelled  of  violets,  and 
its  wax  was  violet,  too.  It  had  been  full  of  her 
young  enthusiasm  over  her  new  surroundings,  full 


IN  QUEBEC  63 

of  her  walks  and  drives,  full,  also,  of  one  Ronald 
Leslie  who  appeared  to  be  holding  a  place  far  in 
the  foreground  of  her  daily  life.  There  was  a 
sister,  somewhere  in  the  background.  She  called 
herself  Janet,  and  his  mother  had  mentioned  her 
once  or  twice.  She  and  Ronald  were  unknown 
quantities,  two  of  them.  As  the  dusk  fell  into 
darkness,  Rob  found  himself  wondering  how  the 
equation  would  work  itself  out. 

Two  hours  later,  as  the  Quebec  sleeper  slid 
northward,  Rob  was  forgetting  all  such  self- 
seeking,  while,  over  the  top  of  his  magazine, 
he  watched  his  British  neighbour.  They  had 
the  car  quite  to  themselves,  and  Rob's  satisfac- 
tion had  come  back  upon  him  in  full  measure, 
when  he  had  seen  the  Englishman  squirm  his 
way  into  a  luggage-heaped  section  diagonally 
across  the  aisle.  Ten  minutes  later,  there  had 
been  a  tussle  of  wills  between  the  Englishman 
and  the  conductor.  The  porter,  passing  through 
the  car,  had  fallen  headlong  over  some  unseen 
obstacle,  and  the  conductor  had  been  forced  to 
explain  at  great  length  that  passengers  were  not 
expected  to  spread  out  their  dressing-cases,  open, 
in  the  aisle. 

"But  I  must  have  a  drink,"  Sir  George  ex- 
plained in  his  turn,  with  seeming  irrelevance. 

"Well,  why  not?" 


64  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Sir  George  leaned  back  in  his  seat 

"I  can't  get  a  drink,  you  know,  without  a  cup," 
he  reminded  his  adversary. 

"  There  's  a  glass  at  the  end  of  the  car. " 

Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"Really,  I  could  n't  drink  out  of  that,"  he  said 
fixedly. 

"As  you  will."  The  answering  tone  was  crisp. 
"Still,  you  must  keep  your  things  in  your  own 
section." 

"I  can't." 

"You  must." 

With  an  air  of  infinite  leisure,  Sir  George  took 
a  small  silver  mug  from  his  open  case,  rose  and 
vanished  in  the  direction  of  the  water  tank.  As 
he  rounded  the  corner,  the  conductor  deftly  picked 
up  the  case,  perched  it  on  top  of  the  tartan  budget, 
and  went  in  search  of  the  porter.  Two  minutes 
later,  Sir  George  came  back,  walking  with  the 
unsteady  pace  of  one  whose  sea-legs  are  not  yet 
adapted  to  land  journeyings,  and  bearing  in  his 
hand  the  filled  cup.  Deliberately  he  seated  him- 
self, deliberately  quaffed  his  cup,  deliberately 
turned  to  face  Rob,  screwing,  the  while,  his 
glass  in  his  off  eye  for  the  sake  of  getting  a 
better  view  of  his  solitary  travelling  companion. 

"Fellow  seems  a  bit  arbitrary,  you  know,"  he 
observed  sententiously. 


IN  QUEBEC  65 


Then,  turning  back  again,  he  rose  and  departed 
to  empty  the  dregs  from  his  mug. 

Still  later,  and  while  the  white-coated  porter 
was  busy  with  the  berths,  Rob  cast  aside  his 
magazine  and  annexed  the  conductor. 

"  What 's  the  exhibit,  across  the  aisle  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

"Plain  freak." 

"  And  going  ?  "  Rob  queried. 

"To  Quebec." 

Rob  stretched  out  his  lame  leg  on  the  opposite 
seat  and  made  a  gesture  of  invitation. 

"  Sit  down ;  that  is,  unless  you  are  busy.  Are 
there  many  like  him  up  there  ?  " 

"Not  so  many.  It 's  a  city  where  one  gets  all 
sorts;  but  this  is  a  rare  one." 

"  You  know  the  place  well  ?  "  Rob  inquired. 

"Rather." 

"Is  it — "  Rob  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  a 
comprehensive  question.  "  Is  it  bad  in  winter  ?  " 

"Not  if  you  don't  mind  cold.  The  sports  are 
good." 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  " 

"Hockey,  skiing,  sliding,  snowshoes. " 

But  Rob  shook  his  head. 

"  All  up  for  me.     I  'm  just  out  of  hospital." 

"  Beg  pardon.     I  remember  noticing  —  " 

"That  I  walked  like  a  sawhorse  ? "  Rob  in- 
5 


66  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

quired  composedly.  "There's  no  need  to  Leg 
my  pardon,  though.  It 's  not  pretty ;  but  there  's 
no  especial  disgrace  about  it." 

"  What  happened  ?" 

"Football.  I  went  down  in  a  scrimmage,  last 
year. " 

"  A  whole  year  ?     What  a  beastly  bore !  " 

Rob  looked  up  to  meet  the  honest  eyes  which 
somehow  matched  the  voice. 

"  Was  n't  it  ?  But  you  sound  as  if  you  knew 
something  about  it,  yourself." 

"I  was  in  South  Africa,  and  had  a  bullet  in 
my  leg.  It  was  n't  fun." 

Rob  gave  him  a  sidelong  glance,  half-whimsical, 
half-sympathetic. 

"  Not  much.  However,  it  has  its  compensations 
—  when  one  thinks  of  the  cause.  Anyway,  you 
came  out  of  it  well." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

Rob  shook  his  head.     Then  he  laughed. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said.     "Give  me  time." 

And  then  the  porter  came  to  make  his  berth. 

Sir  George  Porteous  did  take  breakfast  at  Duds- 
well,  the  next  morning;  and,  over  the  table,  he 
and  Rob  kept  up  a  random  and  desultory  fire  of 
talk.  When  Rob,  fresh  and  starchy  as  if  from 
his  own  tub  at  home,  had  made  his  morning  ap- 
pearing, he  had  been  met  by  a  wild  flapping  of  the 


IN  QUEBEC  67 


opposite  curtains.  The  flapping,  aimless  and  furi- 
ous, had  been  followed  by  the  thrusting  forth  of 
one  shirt-sleeved  arm  which  waved  in  air  for 
an  instant,  as  if  to  preserve  the  balance  of  some 
unstable  body  hidden  behind  the  dark  green 
draperies,  then  withdrew  itself  again  into  the 
unseen  regions  behind  the  curtains.  A  moment 
later,  there  protruded  the  head  of  Sir  George 
Porteous,  tousled,  wild-eyed,  the  hair  erect,  the 
mouth  ajar.  With  the  utter  absence  of  expression 
which  sometimes  accompanies  violent  physical 
exertion,  the  gaze  of  Sir  George  Porteous  trav- 
elled slowly  down  the  car,  while  the  lower  portions 
of  the  curtains  agitated  themselves  crazily.  Then, 
of  a  sudden,  in  the  course  of  its  travels  the  glance 
rested  upon  Rob,  sleek,  smiling  and  peacefully  im- 
maculate from  the  topmost  lock  of  his  yellow  hair 
to  the  shoe-lace  of  his  lame  foot.  The  head  with- 
drew itself  hastily.  Then,  — 

"  Oh,  by  George !  "  came,  muffled,  but  distinct, 
from  the  folds  of  the  curtains. 

Nevertheless,  Sir  George  was  promptly  on  the 
platform,  as  the  train  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the 
breakfast-room.  To  be  sure,  his  cuffs  were  not, 
nor  yet  his  eyeglass,  and  a  huge  safety  pin,  pro- 
duced from  the  depths  of  his  inexhaustible  dress- 
ing-case, held  the  edges  of  his  collar  from  rolling 
back  to  display  his  lack  of  certain  of  the  more 


68  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

essential  forms  of  haberdashery.  With  an  un- 
wonted haste  which  owed  its  origin  to  repeated 
warnings  from  the  porter,  he  stepped  down  from 
the  car  and  started  for  the  breakfast-room  door. 
Then  deliberately  he  turned  back  to  Rob  who,  by 
means  of  the  conductor  and  his  stick,  was  making 
a  toilsome  progress  down  the  steps. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  can't  I  give  you  a  hand  somehow  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  It 's  so  tiresome,  you  know,  not  to 
get  about."  And,  suiting  his  step  to  Rob's,  he 
crossed  the  platform  at  his  side. 


IN  QUEBEC  69 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

ROB  opened  the  door  of  his  room  and  applied 
his  eye  to  the  crack. 

"  What  in  thunder  is  the  row  ?  "  he  asked. 

Ronald  Leslie,  rushing  down  the  stairs  from  the 
third  story,  stayed  his  steps  at  the  question. 

"Row  enough.  Girl  gone,  and  my  mother  ill 
in  bed." 

"  Seriously  ?  "  Rob's  accent  changed.  His  one 
week  in  the  house  had  taught  him  to  have  a  hearty 
liking  for  Mrs.  Leslie. 

"  No ;  only  a  nervous  headache.  She  has  them 
now  and  then.  Usually  they  only  last  a  day ;  but 
they  knock  her  out  completely,  while  they  do 
last." 

"  Then  you  're  not  worried  about  her  ?  " 

"Not  half  so  much  as  I  am  about  the  breakfast. 
That  brute  of  a  girl  took  French  leave,  last  night." 

"Hang  the  breakfast!  "  Rob  advised  him. 

"  That 's  all  right  for  you ;  but  your  mother  and 
Day  would  sing  a  different  song. " 

"Go  cook  it,  then." 


70  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"That's  what  I  called  Janet  for,"  Ronald  ex- 
plained. "I  have  made  up  the  fire,  and  she  will 
he  down  in  a  minute.  Breakfast  won't  be  very 
late." 

"  No  matter  if  it  is.     Can  Janet  cook  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so,  after  a  fashion.  Most  girls  can. 
You  won't  starve.  There  she  comes  now,"  Ronald 
added,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  Janet,  whose  un- 
varying neatness  had  not  failed  her  in  the  crisis 
of  a  five-minute  toliet,  appeared  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs. 

With  a  suddenness  which  reminded  himself  of 
Sir  George  Porteous,  Rob  withdrew  his  head  from 
the  crack  until  her  light  steps  had  passed  his  door. 
Then,  hearing  no  sound  of  Ronald's  departure,  he 
opened  the  door  again.  True  enough,  he  found 
Ronald  still  outside. 

"  Well  ?  "  Rob  said  questioningly. 

"Well."  Ronald's  tone  showed  that  his  relief 
was  permanent. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"Getting  my  breath  after  my  exertions." 

"  And  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Getting  breakfast " 

"  Why  don't  you  go  down  and  help  her  ?  " 

"Me?     I  can't  cook." 

Through  the  crack,  Rob  eyed  the  tall  Canadian 
with  sudden  scorn. 


IN   QUEBEC  71 


"  What  a  futile  sort  of  fellow  you  are !  "  he  com- 
mented. "No  matter.  I'll  go,  myself."  And, 
before  Ronald  could  make  reply,  the  closing  of 
the  door  was  followed  by  sounds  of  splashing  and 
spluttering,  and,  later,  by  hurried,  uneven  steps 
and  by  the  soft  beat  of  brushes.  When  the  door 
opened  again,  the  hall  was  empty.  Ronald,  in 
something  dangerously  akin  to  injured  dignity, 
had  betaken  himself  to  his  own  room  to  add  the 
last  touches  to  his  uncompleted  toilet. 

Janet,  meanwhile,  had  set  the  table  and  deluged 
the  stove  in  her  hurried  filling  of  the  coffee-pot. 
Then,  frowning  intently,  she  gave  her  whole  mind 
to  the  task  of  fitting  a  large  steak  to  a  small  grid- 
iron, without  leaving  a  two-inch  frill  of  meat  to 
dangle  about  over  the  coals.  She  made  an  at- 
tractive picture,  as  she  bent  above  the  table,  her 
sleeves  turned  back  from  her  round,  brown  wrists 
and  her  hair,  ruffled  with  the  heat  and  with  her 
haste,  standing  out  in  a  brown  aureole  around  her 
intent  young  face.  She  started  up  into  abrupt 
self-consciousness,  however,  as  Rob  came  hurry- 
ing and  hobbling  into  the  room. 

"Good  morning,  Biddy!"  he  hailed  her  from 
the  threshold.  "Your  brother  said  you  were  in 
hot  water,  this  morning,  and  I  came  down  to  help 
cook." 

Janet    stared    at    him    in    amazement.      Not 


72  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

even  Ronald's  whole-hearted  devotion  would 
have  brought  him  to  the  rescue  in  such  a  crisis 
as  this.  Like  most  of  his  fellow  countrymen, 
Ronald  Leslie  had  in  his  own  mind  a  well- 
established  line  between  masculine  and  feminine 
duties,  and,  no  matter  how  good  might  have  been 
his  intentions,  it  would  never  have  occurred  to 
him  that  it  was  possible  for  him  to  cross  that  line. 
Still  less,  however,  would  it  have  occurred  to  Janet. 

"  You  help  cook  ?  "  she  echoed  blankly. 

"  Yes.  Why  not  ?  Here,  you  give  me  that, 
while  you  do  the  toast."  And  Rob,  laying  hold 
of  the  gridiron,  with  a  few  deft  touches  packed 
the  surrounding  frill  into  its  proper  place. 

"  But  do  you  know  how  ?  "  Janet's  tone  was 
still  a  little  dubious. 

"  Sure.  I  camped  out,  all  summer  before  last, 
and  none  of  the  other  fellows  could  cook  so  much 
as  a  plate  of  porridge  and  have  it  fit  to  eat,"  Rob 
explained,  with  obvious  pride.  Then  he  seized  a 
stove-handle  and  laid  bare  a  bed  of  glowing  coals. 
"Oh,  I  say,  this  is  fine  I  You  can  make  toast  at 
that  end.  I  want  this." 

And,  before  Janet  could  quite  grasp  the  situa- 
tion, she  and  Rob  Argyle,  the  stranger  whose 
coming  she  had  so  dreaded  and  feared,  were 
cozily  bending  down,  side  by  side,  over  the  blaz- 
ing fire  in  the  kitchen  range. 


IN  QUEBEC  73 


Janet  had  been  spending  the  day  at  Cap  Rouge, 
when  Rob  reached  Quebec.  Ronald  had  fetched 
her  home  so  late  in  the  evening  that  she  had  had 
only  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the  new  member  of 
the  household.  That  glimpse,  however,  had  been 
enough  to  send  Janet  to  bed  in  a  mood  where  ad- 
miration and  awe  struggled  vainly  together  for 
mastery.  The  day  which  had  followed,  and  the 
week  which  had  followed  that,  had  done  little  to 
decide  that  mastery.  Janet  had  been  busy  with 
her  school  and  with  her  light  household  duties; 
Rob  had  been  wholly  engrossed  with  settling  him- 
self into  his  new  quarters.  As  consequence,  the 
two  had  scarcely  met,  save  at  mealtimes  and  when, 
now  arid  then  of  an  evening,  they  were  brought 
together  by  way  of  Ronald  and  Day.  Neverthe- 
less, as  the  time  went  on,  Janet's  admiration  kept 
pace  with  her  awe. 

In  all  truth,  few  girls  could  have  kept  from  ad- 
miring Rob  Argyle.  He  was  so  honest  and  alert 
and  off-hand,  so  strong  and  hearty  in  spite  of  his 
lame  leg,  so  good  to  look  at  and  so  jovial  to  talk 
and  to  be  talked  to  that  Janet,  now  and  then,  had 
found  herself  dangerously  near  to  putting  him  on 
a  pedestal  in  the  secret  places  of  her  girlish  mind. 
She  liked  him  in  all  sorts  of  ways ;  but  she  was 
unfeignedly  afraid  of  him  and  for  no  obvious 
cause.  And  no  one  in  the  world  would  have  been 


74  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

more  filled  with  mirth  at  the  thought  of  arousing 
Janet's  fears  than  would  Rob  Argyle  himself. 

The  reasons  of  Janet's  fears  were  complex  and 
mingled.  Chief  among  them  lay  Rob's  stick 
which  so  rarely  left  his  side.  The  spirit  of 
motherhood,  born  in  all  girls,  was  strongly  in- 
trenched in  Janet  Leslie's  character.  Her  inde- 
pendent manner,  her  firm  little  chin  and  the 
resolute  poise  of  her  head:  all  these  were  the 
mask  of  a  hidden  gentleness  which  made  her 
swift  to  take  in  the  contrast  between  Rob  Ar- 
gyle's  buoyant  pluckiness  and  the  heavy  drag  of 
his  foot  as  he  moved  about  the  house.  His  stout 
brown  stick  held  a  curious  fascination  for  her;  it 
seemed  to  stand  for  so  much  that  she  longed  to 
say  to  him,  yet  dared  not  put  into  words.  In  a 
sense,  it  set  him  apart  from  the  other  boys  she  had 
known.  He  bore  the  difference  lightly;  yet  she 
felt  sure  they  both  were  conscious  of  it,  when  they 
were  together.  It  rendered  her  shy  and  monosyl- 
labic. She  watched  him  from  under  her  lashes, 
and  talked  to  him  almost  as  little  as  did  Ronald 
who  had  frankly  declared  to  her  his  inability  to 
get  on  with  this  easy-going  youth  to  whom  reser- 
vations were  not  and  who  appeared  to  think  that 
friends  would  be  his  for  the  asking. 

As  a  general  rule,  friends  had  been  Rob's  for 
the  asking.  In  the  happy-go-lucky  life  of  a  large 


IN  QUEBEC  75 


preparatory  school,  he  had  owed  his  popularity  far 
more  to  his  personality  than  to  his  paternal  for- 
tune. Grown  up  among  other  jovial,  outspoken 
fellows,  he  had  learned  the  trick  of  meeting  all 
strangers  with  a  smile  and  an  outstretched  hand. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  since  he  had  come 
to  Quebec,  he  had  learned  what  it  was  to  have 
his  smile  ignored,  his  open  hand  disregarded. 
On  Janet's  side,  this  was  due  to  shyness;  on 
Ronald's  part,  to  the  chilly  English  inability  to 
make  friends  at  sight.  And  Rob  was  shrewd  to 
read  the  causes.  In  consequence,  he  put  on  his 
sunniest  smile  to  coax  Janet  from  her  shell;  but, 
after  the  second  day,  he  treated  Janet's  tall  brother 
with  a  breezy  sort  of  contempt  which  was  as  new 
to  Ronald  as  it  was  wholly  undeserved. 

That  morning  had  been  their  nearest  approach 
to  cordial  relations.  Ronald,  up  betimes  to  look 
at  the  furnace  which  had  come  under  his  care, 
had  made  early  discovery  of  the  empty  kitchen. 
With  his  heart  near  his  heels,  he  had  gone  to 
acquaint  his  mother  with  the  fact  of  the  servant's 
departure.  Her  faint  voice,  muffled  and  forlorn, 
answering  to  his  knock,  had  sent  his  heart  still 
lower.  He  knew  the  voice,  knew  the  day  of  soli- 
tary suffering  which  it  portended.  Mumbling  an 
excuse  which  he  fondly  hoped  would  reassure  his 
mother,  he  turned  away  and  tramped  up  the  next 


76  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

flight  of  stairs  in  search  of  Janet.  Janet's  ill- 
concealed  consternation  had  completed  his  dis- 
comfiture. It  had  been  a  relief  when  Rob, 
aroused  by  the  unwonted  stir  in  the  house,  had 
opened  his  door  to  inquire  its  cause.  Ronald 
pitied  Janet  acutely.  Nevertheless,  he  had  left 
her  to  cope  with  the  breakfast,  while  he  retired 
to  his  room  to  smooth  his  hair  and  his  feelings 
which  had  been  ruffled  by  Rob's  attitude  of  criti- 
cism. Ronald  Leslie  was  not  critical  of  others. 
He  preferred  to  receive  as  little  criticism  as  he 
gave.  Rob's  words  had  gone  on  his  temper  and 
turned  it  slightly  on  edge. 

Day's  lips  had  parted  in  surprise,  when  she 
entered  the  dining-room,  thart  morning,  to  find 
Janet  seated  behind  the  coffee-pot,  while  Rob, 
crocky  and  hilarious,  limped  into  the  room  with 
the  platter  in  his  hands. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  she  demanded. 

Rob  set  down  the  platter  with  a  flourish.  Then, 
before  Janet  could  speak,  — 

"Merely  a  new  butler,"  he  replied  coolly. 

Day  raised  her  brows,  as  she  looked  at  the  cuffs 
of  her  brother,  usually  so  immaculate  in  all  of  his 
belongings. 

"  Do  you  generally  go  into  the  coal  cellar,  when 
you  buttle  ?  "  she  queried  saucily;  but  there  was 
a  slight  flavour  of  criticism  in  her  tone. 


IN   QUEBEC  77 


Laughing,  he  dropped  into  his  place  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  table. 

"  No ;  only  in  seasons  of  famine.  Janet  and  I 
have  been  getting  breakfast. " 

"  You  ?  And  Janet  ?  "  The  words  made  two 
distinct  questions. 

"  Yes.  We  have  gone  into  partnership. "  Rob 
nodded  across  at  Janet  who  was  blushing  above 
the  cups.  "  We  are  predicting  a  great  success  for 
ourselves,  too,"  he  added,  as  Ronald  drew  Mrs. 
Argyle's  chair  back  from  the  table. 

"Mamma,"  Day  turned  to  her  mother  almost 
petulantly;  "do  ask  these  people  what  has  hap- 
pened." 

"Ronald  told  me.  Mrs.  Leslie  is  ill,  and  the 
maid  has  gone.  What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it,  Janet  ?  "  she  asked  kindly,  for  she  could  not 
fail  to  admire  the  girlish  energy  with  which  Janet 
had  thrown  herself  into  the  breach. 

And  Janet  made  plucky  answer,  — 

"Eat  breakfast,  and  then  wash  the  dishes." 

"  With  my  help,  "  Rob  interpolated. 

"  In  which  ?  "  she  asked  gayly,  for  the  memory 
of  their  frolic  over  the  fire,  still  uppermost  in  her 
mind,  had  destroyed  her  fear,  for  the  time  being. 

"Both,  of  course.  We  eat.  You  wash.  I 
wipe,"  he  replied  tersely,  as  he  attacked  his 
steak  and  buttered  toast 


78  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

But  Janet  shook  her  head. 

"You  'd  break  them,"  she  made  enigmatic  an- 
swer; but  she  laughed  up  into  his  blue  eyes,  as 
she  gave  him  his  cup  of  coffee. 

Nevertheless  and  in  spite  of  Janet's  strictures, 
Rob  did  wipe  the  dishes.  Day  came  into  the 
china  closet  and  found  him  at  Janet's  elbow,  girt 
in  a  gingham  pinafore  and  with  a  long  brown 
towel  in  his  hands. 

"The  cab  is  here,  Rob,"  she  said,  from  the 
threshold. 

"What  cab?" 

"Yours.     You  were  going  out  for  a  drive." 

"  Hang  the  cab !  "  Rob  made  cheery  answer,  as 
he  polished  a  cup  with  a  zeal  which  threatened  to 
wreck  its  handle. 

"But  it  is  here,"  Day  reiterated.  "Mother  is 
going,  too." 

"Let  her  go  three,  if  she  wants,"  Rob  said 
blandly.  "I'm  busy." 

"I  know.     Only  —  " 

For  a  moment,  Rob  looked  benignly  down  at  his 
sister,  as  if  the  difference  in  their  ages  had  been 
measured  by  years,  not  moons. 

"Go  with  her,  Day,  and  let  me  out  of  it, 
there's  a  dear  little  soul,"  he  urged,  and,  as 
he  spoke,  some  sudden  impulse  made  him  rest 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 


1  In  spite  of  Janet's  strictures,  Rob  did  wipe  the  dishes."     Page  78. 


IN  QUEBEC  79 


Hastily  she  drew  out  of  his  reach. 

"Oh,  Rob,  that  greasy  dishwater!"  was  all  she 
said ;  but  her  brother's  teeth  shut  hard  together 
and,  as  she  turned  away,  he  looked  after  her  with 
pained  blue  eyes  which,  all  at  once,  had  lost  their 
sparkle. 

A  pause  followed  her  going.  Then  Janet  said 
shyly,  — 

"It  is  too  bad  for  you  to  lose  your  drive." 

"I  don't  care  about  driving,"  Rob  said  curtly. 
"I  can  go,  any  day.  Oh,  confound  it!  Now  see 
what  I  've  done!  "  And  he  held  up  the  two  frag- 
ments of  the  saucer  which  had  given  way  under 
his  impatient  touch. 

With  rare  tact,  Janet  suppressed  her  inclina- 
tion to  laugh  at  his  crestfallen  face.  She  was 
shrewd  enough  to  know  that  the  broken  saucer 
was  by  no  means  Rob's  only  cause  of  trouble  just 
then.  Her  experience  of  brothers  had  been  limited 
to  Ronald ;  but  she  was  quite  aware  that,  as  a  rule, 
brothers  did  not  take  kindly  to  rebuffs  when  their 
sole  idea  had  been  to  caress  their  sisters.  Day's 
gown  was  certainly  dainty,  Rob's  hand  wet.  How- 
ever—  Janet's  mind  lingered  long  upon  the  word. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hand  for  the  saucer. 

"Don't  mind  it  a  bit,"  she  said  carelessly. 
"My  mother  broke  one  like  it,  only  yesterday. 
They  are  ugly  things,  and  I  shall  be  glad  when 


80  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

they  are  gone.  But,  truthfully,  don't  you  hate 
doing  this  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Not  unless  I  'm  in  the  way." 

"You  are  n't,  not  one  bit.  It  isn't  half  so 
horrid,  when  there  's  somebody  to  talk  to."  She 
smiled,  as  their  fingers  met  on  a  slippery  plate. 
"Perhaps,  if  you  beg  very  much,"  she  added; 
"I'll  let  you  peel  the  potatoes  for  dinner." 

Rob  glanced  at  the  floor. 

"I  'd  kneel,  if  I  could  and  if  there  were  room," 
he  assured  her.  "It's  not  such  bad  fun,  Janet, 
and  I  get  bored  to  death  sometimes." 

"Bored  in  Quebec?"  she  said,  in  mock  rebuke, 
for  the  gingham  pinafore  hid  somewhat  of  his 
elegance,  the  stick  had  been  left,  forgotten,  on 
the  kitchen  table,  and  Janet  was  fast  forgetting 
both  awe  and  admiration  in  a  hearty  liking  for 
her  jovial  assistant. 

"Yes,  even  here,"  he  assented,  and  something, 
possibly  the  lurking  memory  of  Day's  rebuff, 
brought  an  unwonted  minor  key  into  his  gay 
young  voice.  "Your  hills  are  too  steep  for  my 
lame  legs,  and  a  fellow  can't  sit  and  look  out  of 
the  window,  all  day  long." 

Janet  hesitated,  caught  her  breath  a  little, 
then,  looking  up  at  him,  held  out  a  welcoming 
and  soapy  hand. 


IN  QUEBEC  81 


"I  know,"  she  said  gently.  "I  had  forgotten. 
But,  when  you  do  get  bored  with  looking  out  of 
the  window,  coine  down  into  the  kitchen  and 
play  with  uie. " 

And  their  hands  and  eyes,  above  the  cooling 
dishwater,  met  and  pledged  their  friendship. 

Day,  meanwhile,  up  in  her  own  room,  was  set- 
tling her  hat  and  pulling  and  patting  her  hair  into 
shape  beneath  the  broad,  soft  brim.  Her  face,  re- 
flected in  the  mirror,  looked  anxious  and  a  little 
overcast.  Already  she  was  regretting,  to  the 
depths  of  her  soul,  the  swift  gesture  of  with- 
drawal which  had  sent  the  colour  rushing  into 
her  brother's  cheeks. 

During  the  past  week,  she  had  seen  but  little 
of  Rob.  That  little,  however,  had  been  good  and 
wholly  to  her  liking.  With  a  curious  feeling  of 
detachment,  born  of  the  years  when  they  had  gone 
their  separate  ways,  she  watched  him,  studied  him 
and  gave  him  her  absolute  approval.  To  Day's 
girlish  mind,  it  counted  for  much  that  Rob  was 
good  to  look  at,  tall  of  his  age  and  robust,  and 
without  much  outward  mark  of  his  year  of  suffer- 
ing. It  had  taken  Janet's  keener  eye  to  note  the 
fine  lines  that  came,  now  and  then,  between  the 
straight  yellow  brows.  Day's  glance  stopped  at 
the  brows  themselves  and  at  the  blue  eyes  beneath 
them.  Then  it  dropped  to  the  clothes  below,  and 

6 


82  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

she  made  swift  contrast  between  Ronald's  well- 
brushed  coat  of  last  year's  cut,  and  Rob's  new 
winter  outfit  which  showed  that  neither  money  nor 
taste  had  lacked  in  the  ordering.  In  dress  and 
manner,  Rob  Argyle  was  plainly  of  the  class,  and 
that  at  its  best.  His  buoyancy  and  hearty  good- 
will were  all  his  own.  Day  watched  him  with  un- 
measured pride;  but  she  talked  to  Ronald  Leslie. 

Once  only,  she  had  gone  into  Rob's  room.  The 
postman  had  brought  a  letter  from  one  of  his  boy 
chums,  and,  receiving  no  answer  to  her  repeated 
calls  from  the  hall  below,  Day  had  mounted  the 
stairs  and  knocked  at  her  brother's  door.  She 
had  found  him,  book  in  hand,  but  his  eyes  were 
absently  fixed  on  the  pair  of  little  dove-coloured 
nuns  passing  in  the  street  beneath.  At  her  step, 
he  roused  himself,  and  turned  to  greet  her  with  a 
brightening  face. 

"Oh,  Day!  It's  you?  Come  in,"  he  said,  as 
he  tossed  his  book  aside. 

"I  brought  up  your  letter.  No;  don't  get  up," 
she  said  hastily.  "You  look  too  comfortable  to 
stir." 

"My  looks  belie  me,  then,"  he  returned.  "I'm 
lonesome." 

"Come  down  and  stay  with  us,"  she  advised 
him,  for  Mrs.  Argyle  had  her  own  sitting-room 
on  the  floor  beneath. 


IN  QUEBEC  83 


"Too  much  trouble  to  move,"  he  said,  as  he 
stretched  himself,  then  folded  his  arms  at  the 
back  of  his  yellow  head.  "Stay  and  talk  to  a 
fellow,  Day." 

"  But  your  letter  ?  "  she  reminded  him. 

"It  will  keep.  I  am  learning  that  I  must  take 
you  when  I  can.  You  're  not  going  out  now ;  are 
you  ? " 

Day  hesitated.  During  the  past  week,  she  had 
struck  up  a  sudden  friendship  with  an  American 
girl  whose  people  were  spending  a  month  at  the 
Chateau.  There  had  been  some  vague  plans  for 
that  morning,  and  the  morning  was  fine,  all  gray 
and  gold  and  bracing.  However,  Day  owned  a 
conscience,  and  Rob's  voice  was  wishful. 

"Not  unless  you  '11  go,  too,"  she  said,  with  sud- 
den decision. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  walked  twice  the  length  of  the  terrace,  yes- 
terday, and  I  'in  lying  up,  to-day,  to  pay  for  it. 
Come  and  lie  up,  too."  And,  rising,  he  drew  for- 
ward the  most  comfortable  chair  which  the  room 
afforded. 

With  mocking  eyes,  Day  watched  his  hospitable 
preparations  for  her  ease.  When  the  chair  was 
ready,  — 

"  That 's  beautiful, "  she  said  approvingly.  "  Now 
sit  down  in  it  and  fill  it  up.  It  is  entirely  too  large 


84  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

for  me.     Besides,  I  prefer  the  window-seat;  I  like 
to  see  what  is  moving,  you  know." 

"But  it 's  not  comfortable,"  he  protested. 

"Oh,  but  it  is.  Truly,  I  like  it,  Rob.  And 
then,  this  chair  just  fits  you;  you  're  so  nice  and 
big." 

"  Is  that  the  best  you  can  say  for  me,  Day  ?  " 

She  laughed,  while,  with  a  flutter  of  skirts,  she 
settled  herself  in  the  wide  window-seat. 

"Don't  fish,"  she  admonished  him. 

With  an  odd  little  air  of  irresolution,  he  still 
stood  beside  the  chair  she  had  scorned. 

"I  'm  not,"  he  said  bluntly  at  length.  "It 's 
only  that  I  have  wondered  once  in  a  while  just 
what  you  really  do  think  of  me,  little  sister." 

For  a  moment,  she  sat  looking  gravely  up  at 
him,  and  older  eyes  than  Rob's  would  have  read 
the  real  pride  and  the  dawning  love  in  her  face. 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  her  gravity  scattered  itself, 
and  a  laugh  chased  the  dreaminess  from  her 
brown  eyes. 

"You'd  better  ask  Ronald,"  she  advised  him 
merrily. 

At  dinner,  that  night,  the  coffee  was  unduly 
strong.  When  the  clock  in  the  hall  struck  two, 
Rob  was  still  pondering  the  meaning  of  Day's 
words  and  of  the  look  which  had  gone  before 
them. 


JN  QUEBEC  85 


CHAPTER  SIX 

"  l^VAY!" 

JL/     "Oh,  Day!" 

The  two  voices,  Canadian  and  American,  one 
from  above,  one  from  below,  smote  the  air  simul- 
taneously. Day,  ruining  her  eyes  and  her  temper 
over  an  intricate  bit  of  lace  work,  looked  up  at  the 
double  call. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  without  troubling  herself 
to  rise  and  open  the  door. 

Again  came  the  two  voices,  impatiently,  this 
time,  and  one  following  close  upon  the  echo  of 
the  other. 

"Day!" 

"Oh-h-h,  Day!" 

This  time,  she  threw  aside  her  work  and  went 
to  open  the  door. 

"  Did  somebody  want  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

Ronald,  festooning  himself  over  the  rail  of  the 
third-story  stairs,  was  the  first  to  get  in  his  word. 

"I  want  you." 

"  What  for  ?  " 

"  It  is  Saturday  afternoon,"  he  said  suggestively. 


86  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"Of  course.  Yesterday  was  Friday.  To-mor- 
row will  be  Sunday.  What  of  it?" 

Janet's  brown  head  appeared  beside  the  shoulder 
of  her  brother. 

"  It  sounds  exactly  like  'April,  June  and  Novem- 
ber,' "  she  commented  derisively. 

But  Ronald,  albeit  his  arm  went  around  her 
shoulders  with  a  sureness  of  gesture  which  be- 
tokened long  custom,  yet  ignored  her  comment. 

"  What  of  it  ?  "  he  echoed  Day.  "  Merely  this : 
no  office,  and  you  said,  last  week,  you  'd  go  out 
with  me." 

Down  in  the  hall  below,  Rob  spoke  again. 

"Oh,  Day!" 

"Yes,  Rob." 

"  Were  you  coming  for  a  drive  ?  " 

"Sorry,  Rob;  I  can't.     Take  mother." 

"  She  's  going  out  to  tea.     Why  can't  you  go  ?  " 

"Because  Ronald  said  I  promised  him,  last 
week. " 

"  Hang  Ronald ! "  Rob  observed  to  himself,  a 
little  too  audibly  for  complete  courtesy. 

Day's  head  lifted  itself  proudly.  Then  she 
turned  to  face  the  rail  above. 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go,  Ronald  ? "  she 
asked,  and  the  distinctness  of  the  tone  held  its 
own  challenge  to  the  boy  in  the  hall  below. 

"  Anywhere  you  say.    What  about  the  Island  ?  " 


IN  QUEBEC  87 

"I'll  be  ready  in  five  minutes,"  she  returned 
promptly. 

"Then  you  honestly  won't  go  with  me  ?"  Rob 
asked  from  below. 

But  Day,  who  had  no  notion  how  unused  he 
was  to  begging  for  society,  nor  how  it  galled 
him  now  to  do  so,  shook  her  head. 

"Not  to-day,  Rob.  I  promised  Ronald.  Be- 
sides, it  is  his  only  day.  We  can  go,  any  time." 

"But  you  won't,"  Rob  objected  a  little  sharply. 
"  You  always  have  some  excuse.  Why  won't  you 
both  come  with  me,  instead  ?  " 

Day,  who  hated  driving,  vainly  cast  about  in 
her  mind  for  some  graceful  way  of  begging  off. 
Ronald,  however,  went  straight  to  the  point. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said.  "It's  good  of  you  to 
count  me  in,  Rob.  I  'd  like  to  go ;  only,  you  see, 
I  'm  not  getting  any  exercise  at  all,  these  days. 
I  'm  not  used  to  being  cooped  up  at  a  desk,  and 
it  leaves  me  feeling  anything  but  fit.  I  'd  best 
take  my  Saturday  afternoons  in  the  hardest  ex- 
ercise I  can.  Else,  I  would  go  with  you.  I  know 
what  a  bore  it  is  to  drive  out  alone.  I  wish  you 
could  go  with  us." 

"Thanks,"  Rob  said,  for  the  last  words  had 
come  heartily. 

With  her  hat  in  her  hand,  Day  reappeared  in 
the  doorway  of  her  room. 


88  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"Rob!"  she  called.     "Rob!" 

"Well?" 

"Dou't  be  cross;  there's  a  dear  boy.  And  I 
was  just  going  to  ask  why  you  don't  take  Janet 
with  you." 

Rob's  eyes,  passing  Day's,  moved  upward  to 
Janet,  still  leaning  on  the  rail  of  the  upper  hall. 

"  Will  you  come,  please  ?  "  There  was  a  sudden 
eagerness  in  his  tone,  a  sudden  wistfulness  in  his 
eyes. 

Janet,  as  she  looked  down  at  him,  felt  an  odd 
little  tugging  at  her  throat.  Then  she  hardened 
her  heart.  In  reality,  the  invitation  had  come 
but  indirectly  and  by  way  of  Day. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  accent  of 
finality.  "I  have  some  other  plans." 

Rob's  eyes  drooped.     Then  he  said  quietly,  - 

"I  am  sorry.  I  wish  you  could  have  come." 
And,  turning,  he  went  into  the  drawing-room 
where  he  stood  by  the  window  until  Day's  brown 
frock  had  gone  out  of  sight  and  the  crisp  ring  of 
Ronald's  step  no  longer  fell  upon  his  ears.  Then 
he  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair  and  fell  to  pon- 
dering upon  the  value  of  active  legs. 

Janet  found  him  there,  when  she  came  down 
the  stairs,  half  an  hour  later,  in  search  of  events 
to  amuse  her.  She  herself  was  frankly  bored, 
that  afternoon.  Ronald  had  urged  her  to  go  out 


IN  QUEBEC  89 


with  him  and  Day;  but  she  had  shaken  her  head 
resolutely. 

"I'll  go  to  the  terrace  with  you,  to-night, 
Ronald,  and  we  '11  walk  miles.  This  afternoon, 
you  're  better  off  alone  with  Day.  If  I  were 
there,  you  'd  think  about  things  and,  maybe, 
talk  about  them.  Anyway,  you  would  worry." 
And  not  all  of  Ronald's  urging  had  been  able 
to  shake  her  resolve. 

The  things  to  which  Janet  referred  were  wor- 
risome indeed,  worrisome  and  imminent.  At  a 
family  council,  the  night  before,  it  had  been  de- 
cided that  the  Leslies  must  take  in  even  more 
sail ;  and  it  was  not  easy  to  see  how  they  could 
accomplish  it.  The  new  servant  was  a  marvel  of 
cheapness ;  the  four  Argyles  were  paying  well  for 
their  pleasant  home,  and  Mrs.  Leslie  had  just 
been  congratulating  herself  upon  the  prospect  of 
a  comfortable  winter,  when  a  couple  of  old  debts 
turned  up  and  demanded  instant  payment.  To 
Mrs.  Leslie's  mind,  loyalty  to  her  husband's 
memory  made  it  imperative  that  she  should  ful- 
fil the  demand.  Long  after  Janet  was  in  bed, 
she  could  hear  the  low  murmur  of  voices  from 
Ronald's  room  below.  Small  wonder  that,  this 
afternoon,  she  had  felt  that  Day,  care-free  and 
energetic,  was  a  better  comrade  for  Ronald  than 
she  herself  could  have  been! 


90  JANET:    TIER    WINTER 

Nevertheless,  she  was  lonely  and  a  good  deal 
bored  by  being  left  to  herself.  Had  the  suggestion 
of  the  drive  come  from  Rob  himself,  she  would 
have  hailed  it  with  delight.  It  was  quite  another 
matter,  however,  to  have  Day  arrange  her  plans 
and  dispose  of  her  for  the  afternoon,  especially 
when  Day  was  so  obviously  using  her  as  a  species 
of  stop-gap.  Janet  regretted  the  need  for  her  re- 
fusal, but  not  the  refusal  itself. 

To  her  absolute  surprise,  she  found  Rob  en- 
throned in  the  drawing-room,  alone  and  appar- 
ently unoccupied.  She  had  come  downstairs 
quietly;  and,  for  a  long  moment,  she  stood  on 
the  threshold  watching  him,  without  his  notic- 
ing her  presence.  For  fully  half  that  time,  she 
studied  him  with  envious  eyes,  took  in  all  the 
luxurious  details  of  his  dress,  all  the  unconscious 
grace  of  his  figure  which  so  plainly  betokened  life 
in  a  family  where  debts  were  not,  where  one's  bank 
account  and  one's  ancestry  were  equally  long  and 
equally  clean  of  origin.  If  only  Ronald  could 
have  had  those  clothes,  could  have  owned  such 
ties  and  stockings,  such  wonderful,  sheer  linen 
as  the  corner  which  strayed  from  Rob's  left 
pocket!  But  then  her  eyes  fell  to  the  floor,  to 
the  stiff  line  of  the  lame  leg,  to  the  stout  brown 
stick,  forgotten  on  the  carpet  at  his  side.  After 
all  and  all  in  all,  perhaps  there  was  not  so 


IN  QUEBEC  91 


much  to  envy.  And  Rob's  eyes,  fixed  on  the 
fire,  were  heavy  and  dull.  Janet  stirred  a  little. 
Then,  as  he  did  not  heed  her  slight  motion,  she 
stepped  briskly  forward  into  the  room. 

"You  here?  I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she 
said. 

At  her  voice,  the  light  came  back  into  his  face, 
the  alertness  to  his  manner.  He  started  to  rise ; 
but  she  checked  him. 

"  No ;  please  don't  stir.  I  'm  not  going  to 
stay. " 

"Why  not?" 

Saucily  she  laughed  down  at  him,  as  she  halted 
beside  his  chair. 

"I  am  afraid  I  might  disturb  your  meditations. 
But  I  supposed  you  had  gone  to  drive. " 

"  No  use.  I  'm  sick  of  driving  alone,  and  you 
would  n't  go  with  me." 

She  flushed  a  little.  Then  she  met  his  eyes 
steadily. 

"You  know  why;  don't  you  ?  " 

"I  imagine  I  do.  Still,  if  I  hadn't  been  an 
idiot,  I  should  have  spoken  first." 

"  You  really  did  want  me  to  go  ?  "  she  queried 
rather  wishfully. 

Stooping,  he  picked  up  his  stick. 

"It 's  not  too  late  now.     Let 's  go." 

"I  —  said  I  would  n't,"  Janet  objected  lamely. 


92  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

But  already  Rob  was  half-way  to  the  telephone. 

"No  matter,"  he  reassured  her  from  over  his 
shoulder.  "That  was  another  time,  you  know. 
Can  you  be  ready  in  ten  minutes  ?  " 

Janet  laughed. 

"I  '11  scrabble.  1  am  ashamed  to  give  in,"  she 
explained.  "Still,  it  is  a  gorgeous  day,  and  it  is 
a  shame  for  you  to  spend  it  in-doors. " 

Ten  minutes  later,  she  joined  him,  hatted  and 
furred  to  the  chin,  for  the  afternoon  air  was  sharp 
with  the  snow  which  already  powdered  the  blue 
Laurentides  to  the  north  of  the  city.  For  a  mo- 
ment before  he  opened  the  door,  Rob  stood  smiling 
down  into  her  face. 

"Janet,  you're  a  good  little  fellow,"  he  said 
then.  "  Come  along. " 

Ronald  and  Day,  meanwhile,  were  sitting  on 
the  top  of  the  Cove  Field  steps.  They  had  left 
the  house,  with  the  avowed  intention  of  taking  the 
Island  boat.  Once  in  the  street,  however,  Day 
deliberately  faced  westward. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  Ronald  demanded,  in 
surprise. 

"Fora  walk." 

"  Sure.  But  the  Island  boat  does  n't  start  from 
the  Citadel." 

She  flashed  up  at  him  a  glance  of  scornful 
rebuke. 


IN  QUEBEC  93 


"  I  have  been  in  the  city  for  almost  four  weeks 
now,"  she  reminded  him. 

"And  even  now  you  don't  know  your  way  to  the 
boat  ?  "  he  asked  disrespectfully. 

"  I  know  it  perfectly.  I  also  know  the  way  to 
Sillery." 

"  But  I  thought  we  were  going  to  the  Island. " 

"Not  to-day." 

"Why  not  ?" 

She  hesitated.     Then  she  gave  frank  answer,  — 

"Because  you  always  insist  on  paying  all  the 
fares. " 

Her  accompanying  laugh  took  much  of  the  sting 
from  her  words;  nevertheless,  Ronald,  with  the 
memory  of  last  night's  discussion  uppermost  in 
his  mind,  flushed  hotly. 

"Naturally,"  he  said,  and  his  accent  was  a 
little  crisp. 

"No;  it's  not  natural,  either,"  she  replied 
lightly.  "It  is  all  right,  once  in  a  while.  I  'm 
a  girl,  and  I  like  to  be  taken  care  of.  Still,  if  we 
are  going  out  together,  every  few  days,  I  'd  much 
rather  pay  my  own  way." 

As  she  spoke,  she  started  slowly  towards  the 
gray  arch  of  the  Louis  Gate.  Ronald,  perforce, 
kept  step  at  her  side.  His  own  step  was  ir- 
regular, however,  and  lacked  its  usual  rhythmic 
swing. 


94  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  What  nonsense !  "  he  said  impatiently.  "  This 
is  n't  like  you,  Day." 

"Then  it  would  better  be,"  she  returned,  and 
her  tone  was  undaunted.  "At  least,  it  is  good 
common  sense." 

"I  fail  to  see  it,"  he  answered  shortly. 

From  under  the  brim  of  her  wide  hat,  Day 
peered  up  at  him  furtively.  His  tone  was  omin- 
ous. Her  glimpse  of  his  flushed  face  and  tight- 
shut  lips  was  not  reassuring.  Convinced  that  a 
fray  was  imminent,  she  swiftly  decided  that  the 
best  she  could  do,  was  to  guide  his  steps  to  a 
spot  where  they  could  fight  it  out,  unseen.  The 
Grande  Alle'e  would  be  a  bit  too  conspicuous  a 
place  for  quarrelling. 

"Let's  come  out  across  the  Cove  Fields,"  she 
suggested.  "  I  've  not  been  that  way,  since  the 
first  day  I  came." 

Obediently  he  turned  at  her  side,  crossed  the 
Grande  Alle'e,  crossed  the  bit  of  lawn  in  front 
of  the  skating  rink  and  came  out  across  the  rifle 
ranges  above  the  ragged  earthworks  to  the  west 
of  the  Citadel.  Inside  the  city  wall,  the  wind 
had  blown  sharply ;  but  up  on  the  deserted  Cove 
Fields,  the  sun  lay  warm,  and  the  river  beneath 
matched  the  sapphire  tint  of  the  sky  above. 

For  a  time,  they  trudged  away  over  the  crisp, 
dry  turf  in  a  silence  broken  only  by  Ronald's 


IN  QUEBEC  95 


occasional  nervous  clearing  of  his  throat.  Then, 
as  they  neared  the  top  of  the  endless  flight  of 
steps  leading  down  to  the  river,  he  broke  the 
silence,  abruptly  and  with  an  obvious  effort. 

"Now  look  here,"  he  said  briefly.  "Your 
mother  put  you  up  to  this." 

Most  girls  would  have  pretended  to  ransack 
their  minds  for  an  antecedent  to  his  words. 
Not  so  Day,  who  preferred  directness. 

"No,"  she  asserted.     "She  did  not." 

"Well,  I  wish  she  had,"  Ronald  said,  with  some 
impatience. 

"I  don't  see  why." 

His  scarlet  flush  deepened. 

"Because  one  hates  a  girl  to  be  thinking  of 
such  things." 

For  her  first  half  the  answer,  Day  plumped  her- 
self down  on  the  top  step  and  drew  her  skirts  aside 
to  make  room  for  her  companion. 

"A  girl  does  think  of  such  things,  if  she  has 
any  brains  at  all,"  she  said  calmly.  "Do  sit 
down,  and  we  '11  talk  it  out,  once  for  all.  We 
may  just  as  well  settle  this  thing,  first  as  last." 

"I  don't  see  any  use  in  discussing  it  at  all." 

Her  eyes  twinkled,  as  she  looked  up  into  his 
lowering  face. 

"  I  do,  then ;  that  is,  if  we  're  to  go  on  having 
any  good  times  together."  Then  she  adopted  a 


96  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

new  tone,  half-cajoling,  half-maternal.  "Now, 
Ronald,  do  sit  down  in  the  sun,  like  a  dear 
boy.  I  can't  talk  up  to  the  top  of  a  telephone 
pole.  Arguments  should  always  be  on  the  same 
level." 

"People  shouldn't  argue,"  he  grimbled,  as  he 
obeyed  her  and  seated  himself  at  her  side. 

"They  shouldn't;  but  they  do,"  she  retorted 
whimsically.  Then  she  faced  him,  with  steady 
deliberation.  "Ronald,  you  know  I  like  going 
about  with  you.  You  've  taught  me  all  I  know 
of  the  city ;  you  've  made  it  wonderfully  nice  for 
me.  Rob  is  very  cross  at  me,  because  I  like  better 
to  go  with  you  than  with  him.  No,  listen!  "  She 
lifted  her  hand  to  ward  off  his  interruption.  "  It 's 
not  that  I  am  not  fair  to  Rob;  but  we  both  like 
the  same  things,  you  and  I,  exploring  and  taking 
good  stiff  walks,  things  he  can't  do  at  all.  I  've 
loved  the  going  out  with  you;  it  has  been  good 
fun.  Still,  after  this,  I  shall  do  it  only  on  the 
one  condition." 

He  saw  no  need  to  ask  what  was  the  condition. 
For  an  instant,  he  sat  with  his  eyes  bent  on  the 
long  line  of  shabby  roofs  at  his  feet. 

"  Suppose  I  won't  agree  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

Her  eyes  met  his  eyes  steadily. 

"Then  I  shall  stay  at  home,  or  else  go  driving 
with  Rob." 


IN  QUEBEC  97 

The  silence  which  followed  was  long,  and 
broken  only  by  the  ceaseless  trickle  of  falling 
shale  which  slid,  slid  from  the  face  of  Cape 
Diamond  down  into  the  gutters  beneath. 

"Are  n't  you  a  little  hard  on  a  fellow,  Day  ?  " 
he  said  then. 

"Not  a  bit" 

Sharply  he  faced  her. 

"  Would  you  have  said  it,  a  year  ago  ?  " 

"Of  course.     Why  not  ?" 

Again  the  scarlet  tide  covered  his  face. 

"  Money  did  n't  count  for  so  much  then. " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked,  in  some 
surprise.  Coming  to  Quebec  as  strangers,  the 
Argyles  had  gained  no  notion  how  sudden  and 
complete  had  been  the  overthrow  of  the  Leslie 
fortunes. 

"Didn't  you  know  that  it  is  only  lately  that 
we  have  been  —  poor  ?  "  He  flung  the  last  words 
at  her  sharply. 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  were  poor  now, "  she  an- 
swered him. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  we  take  boarders  for  ?  " 
he  demanded  curtly. 

"You  don't;  only  us." 

"  Well,  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  because  —  I  don't  know.  Because 
Cousin  John  told  us  about  you,  I  suppose." 


98  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Ronald  snapped  the  head  off  from  a  weed  grow- 
ing up  beside  the  steps.  Then  he  laughed. 

"I  'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  have  been  enough, 
Day.  Did  n't  you  know  that  —  "  The  words 
stuck  in  his  throat. 

Day  glanced  down  at  the  restless,  strong  hands, 
up  at  the  clouded  face. 

"I  don't  know  anything,"  she  said  slowly. 
"Remember,  we  are  strangers  here,  and  my 
mother  is  no  gossip.  Tell  me  about  it,  if  you 
like;  but  not  unless  you  do  like." 

Her  voice  and  manner  were  full  of  a  quiet 
dignity.  In  such  a  mood,  Ronald  had  always 
found  the  girl  at  her  best.  Now  he  resolved  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  the  situation.  Uncon- 
sciously to  himself,  his  eyes  cleared  slightly,  as 
he  looked  at  her  intent  young  face. 

"Didn't  you  know,"  he  asked  steadily;  "that 
we  really  and  truly  are  poor  now  ?  That  we  have 
to  count  and  scrimp  and  save  ?  That,  before  my 
father  died,  we  used  to  be  rich,  not  rich  for  New 
York,  but  rich  for  Quebec  ?  " 

Day  started  to  speak.  Then  she  checked  her- 
self, fearing  lest  she  should  say  the  wrong  words. 
Instead,  she  bent  forward  and,  for  an  instant, 
rested  the  tips  of  her  fingers  against  Ronald's 
hand. 

He  interpreted  the  touch  as  she  had  meant  it; 


IN  QUEBEC  99 


his  eyes  showed  his  gratitude.  Then,  after  a 
moment,  he  went  on,  — 

"I  supposed  you  knew  it,  that  day  at  Levis, 
when  we  talked  about  things.  That 's  why  it  hurt 
so,  to-day,  when  you  seemed  to  think  I  could  n't 
scrape  up  money  to  take  you  to  the  Island. " 

"  Ronald !  What  an  idea ! "  she  broke  in 
impatiently. 

"I  suppose.  People  get  queer  ideas  now  and 
then,"  he  answered.  "I  suppose  I  have  worried 
till  I  am  losing  my  grip." 

"  But  what  makes  you  worry  ?  "  she  asked,  her 
eyes  fixed  thoughtfully  on  her  clasped  hands. 

His  laugh  plainly  showed  the  effort  which  it 
had  cost  him. 

"Dollars  and  cents,"  he  said  tersely.  "We  've 
never  thought  about  them,  before.  Now,  with 
all  our  scrimping,  it  is  going  to  be  a  tug  to 
make  both  ends  meet.  I  would  n't  mind,  for 
myself.  I  hate  it,  though,  for  the  mater  and 
Janet.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  hardest  of  all 
for  Janet." 

"  More  than  for  you  ?  " 

Proudly  he  raised  his  head. 

"I  don't  mind.     It  is  worse  for  a  girl." 

Day's  thoughts  moved  rapidly  from  her  dainty 
self  to  her  no  less  luxurious  brother. 

"I  don't  see  why." 


100  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"How  would  you  like  to  wear  cut-over  clothes 
and  a  dyed  coat,  when  you  had  n't  been  used  to 
it;  and  to  have  the  girls  at  school,  not  your 
friends,  but  the  girls  you  never  used  to  talk  to, 
twit  you  because  your  mother  kept  a  boarding- 
house  ?  "  he  demanded  hotly. 

"Does  Janet?" 

"Yes." 

Day  pondered  swiftly. 

"  I  'd  thump  them,  and  then  I  'd  cut  them 
dead,"  she  said  at  last.  Then  she  faced  Ronald 
once  more,  while  the  fire  left  her  voice  which 
grew  very  gentle.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said;  "I 
had  n't  any  idea  how  bad  it  was,  nor  really  that 
it  was  bad  at  all.  Still,  I  think  I  am  glad  you 
told  me,  for  it  may  keep  me  from  making  blun- 
ders in  the  future.  But  do  you  want  to  know 
what  I  think  about  things,  money  and  all  that  ? " 

In  spite  of  himself,  Ronald  smiled  at  the  in- 
tentness  of  her  tone.  And  she  looked  so  dainty 
and  prosperous,  BO  absolutely  unable,  from  her 
own  girlish  experience,  to  form  any  idea  of 
what  the  lack  of  money  really  might  mean. 

"You  think,  the  way  I  used  to  do,  that  it  *s  a 
mighty  good  thing  to  have  ?  "  he  queried. 

"Yes,"  she  said  frankly.  "I  do.  We 've  al- 
ways had  it,  Rob  and  I,  all  we  wanted  and  a 
good  deal  more  than  we  either  of  us  have  needed. 


IN  QUEBEC  101 


1  love  it,  love  pretty  clothes  and  journeys  and  hav- 
ing the  best  kind  of  servants  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 
But  I  don't  think  it 's  the  only  thing,  nor  the  best. 
I  'd  rather  eat  boiled  rice  and  wear  cut-over  stock- 
ings than  not  know  iny  grandfather  was  a  nice 
sort  of  "man.  And  I  honestly  hope  that,  if  my 
father  were  to  lose  his  money  to-morrow,  Rob 
and  I  could  grit  our  teeth  and  take  it  as  coolly 
as  you  and  Janet  have  done.  I  hope  he  won't 
I  don't  want  to  have  to  be  heroic.  It  would 
only  be  a  comfort  to  know  I  could  be,  if  it  were 
necessary. " 

But  Ronald  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  come  in  that  class,"  he 
said. 

As  on  one  previous  occasion,  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  his. 

"Don't  be  too  sure,"  she  said.  Then  swiftly 
she  brought  the  talk  back  to  its  point  of  depar- 
ture. "  Now  about  our  coming  out  together, "  she 
went  on,  with  a  frank,  off-hand  directness  which 
Ronald  was  powerless  to  resent;  "let's  come 
straight  to  the  point.  I  have  my  allowance;  it 
is  probably  ten  times  yours.  Anyway,  it  is 
more  than  I  can  spend,  up  here  where  there  's 
not  so  much  to  do.  Let 's  agree  that,  when  we 
go  off  for  a  frolic,  we  each  pay  our  own  way. 
It  does  n't  sound  nice ;  but  it 's  much  more  fun. 


102  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

We  girls  hate  to  be  head  over  heels  in  debt. 
It's  a  good  deal  that  you're  willing  to  dawdle 
about  with  me  and  show  me  the  sights.  That 
you  can  do  better  than  anybody  else.  But,  for 
the  rest  — "  She  paused  suggestively.  Then 
she  added,  "  Is  it  a  bargain  ?  " 

Ronald  hesitated.  Just  as  he  was  opening  his 
mouth  to  reply,  a  shadow  fell  across  them,  and  a 
languid,  accentless  voice  inquired,  - 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  Oh,  I  say,  did  you  ever  get 
the  poor  chap  out  ?  " 


IN   QUEBEC  103 


CHAPTER     SEVEN 


is  a  queer  place.  I  fancy  there  's 
nothing  else  here  like  it." 

His  Baedeker  propped  open  before  him  and  a 
sheaf  of  paper  by  his  side,  Sir  George  Porteous 
sat  in  the  writing-room  of  the  Chateau,  two  days 
later,  arduously  engaged  in  composing  a  letter  to 
his  step-mother.  His  step-mother,  who  was  also 
the  source  of  future  supplies,  was  fond  of  hard, 
concrete  facts.  Sir  George  bit  the  end  of  his  pen- 
holder, while  he  conned  the  red-bound  volume  with 
intent  and  frowning  brow. 

"  It  is  called  the  Gibraltar  of  America.  Built 
on  a  high  cliff  over  the  Saint  Lawrence,  it  is 
crowned  with  the  Citadel.  The  soldiers  are  Cana- 
dians, and  not  at  all  swagger,  like  our  Guards. 
There  are  several  convents  and  monasteries  here, 
and  one  meets  a  priest  at  every  corner.  Down  by 
the  river,  there  are  shabby  streets  called  Lower 
Town.  Up  on  the  hill,  which  the  inhabitants 
call  The  Cape,  there  are  two  main  roads  and  a 
lot  of  cross  streets  ;  but  they  all  seem  to  lead  to 


104  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

the  terrace  or  the  Basilica.  That  last  is  the 
French  church,  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  old. 
There  is  a  university,  too;  but  I  haven't  seen  it 
yet.  I  fancy  it  has  n't  any  boats." 

Sir  George  drew  a  long  sigh,  as  he  laid  down 
his  pen  and,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  allowed 
his  indolent  glance  to  roam  to  and  fro  about  the 
room,  before  it  finally  sought  the  terrace  beneath 
the  window  and  the  broad  blue  river  beyond.  His 
step-mother  was  so  fond  of  facts;  and  he  had  ac- 
cumulated so  very  few  of  them,  during  the  two 
weeks  he  had  spent  in  Quebec. 

Looking  back  over  the  two  weeks,  Sir  George 
Porteous  found  it  hard  to  account  for  the  time. 
Two  weeks!  That  made  fourteen  days,  and  there 
were  twenty-four  hours  in  the  day.  Of  course, 
he  had  not  kept  awake  all  the  time.  No  fellow 
could  do  that.  He  had  had  to  do  some  dressing, 
and  the  meals  had  taken  such  a  lot  of  time. 
Still,  he  had  been  out,  every  day.  Really,  he 
had  walked  quite  a  lot.  Every  morning,  he 
had  walked  past  the  post  office  and  the  Basilica 
and  down  into  Saint  John  Street  to  the  florist 
shop.  And,  every  afternoon,  he  had  gone  out 
the  Grande  Alle'e.  Funny  name,  that,  for  such 
a  little  street  I  But  everybody  seemed  to  walk 
there.  Vaguely  he  wondered  what  might  he 
beyond  the  toll  gate. 


IN   QUEBEC  105 


Suddenly  his  face  lighted,  and  he  picked  up 
his  pen,  while  the  other  hand,  its  index  finger 
outstretched,  trailed  along  the  open  page  before 
him. 

"Quebec  was  the  scene  of  a  famous  battle. 
On  the  thirteenth  of  September,  seventeen  hun- 
dred and  fifty-nine,  the  English  climbed  the  cliff 
at  the  back  of  the  city,  and  defeated  the  French 
outside  the  city  wall.  Both  generals  were  killed, 
and  now  have  the  same  monument  on  which  my 
bedroom  window  looks  down.  This  marks  the 
fall  of  France  in  America.  If  Wolfe  had  lived, 
who  knows  —  " 

Once  more  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  This 
time,  however,  his  long  sigh  of  relief  merged 
itself  into  an  unmistakable  yawn. 

"Awful  bore,  this  history!"  he  observed  to 
himself.  "I  believe  I  '11  go  out  for  a  walk  and 
see  if  I  can't  find  out  some  more  facts.  It 's  facts 
she  wants,  by  George!  The  only  question  is  how 
to  get  them. " 

Notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he  had  travelled 
for  many  months  on  end  and  in  many  climes,  Sir 
George  Porteous  possessed  a  marked  hollow  where 
his  bump  of  locality  ought  to  have  been.  He  knew 
the  Ring  as  being  the  ancient  Place  d'Armes  of 
the  French  epoch.  He  knew  the  long,  straight 
road  which  runs  westward  from  the  Chateau  wall, 


106  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

and  calls  itself  Saint  Louis  Street,  or  the  Grande 
Allde,  or  the  Sillery  Road,  according  to  its  loca- 
tion in  regard  to  the  tollgate  and  the  city  wall. 
He  had  a  vague  notion  that  the  Citadel  was  at  the 
summit  of  all  things,  as  befitted  a  British  fortress; 
and  he  had  another  vague  notion  that  all  down- 
hill roads  led  into  a  vast  unknown  and  shabby 
area  dubbed  the  Lower  Town.  Beyond  these 
very  finite  limits,  his  local  knowledge  stopped 
short.  And  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  by  the 
time  he  had  made  a  dozen  turns  after  leaving 
the  Chateau  court,  Sir  George  Porteous  was  al- 
most irretrievably  lost.  To  his  surprise,  he  met 
with  unexpected  difficulties  in  finding  himself. 
When  at  length  he  accomplished  that  end,  it 
was  quite  by  accident  and  by  strange  and  devi- 
ous courses.  That  accident  and  those  courses 
landed  him  all  at  once  before  a  streetcar  whose 
front  was  plainly  labelled  Ohdteau  Frontenac. 
Behind  him  was  a  huge  gray  stone  building,  also 
plainly  labelled,  and  something  in  the  label  cap- 
tured Sir  George  Porteous's  languid  attention. 

"By  George,  here's  a  hospital!"  he  said. 
"She  always  did  go  in  for  hospitals,  you  know." 

Pushing  his  hat  far  to  the  back  of  his  head,  he 
put  up  his  glass  and  fell  to  ogling  the  massive 
front  of  the  H6tel  Dieu,  as  though  he  expected 
its  windows  to  open  and  a  shower  of  little  facts 


IN  QUEBEC  107 


to  come  flying  forth,  as  if  in  answer  to  his  win- 
ning glance.  Nothing  of  the  kind  happened, 
however.  The  place  was  as  still  and  deserted 
as  the  grave,  save  for  a  workman  putting  up  a 
storm  door  somewhere  in  the  depths  of  the  arch. 
Sir  George  let  his  eyeglass  fall,  and  compressed 
his  lips  until  the  wrinkles  of  flesh  met  above  the 
heavy  creases  which  ran  slantwise  from  his  nose 
to  the  outer  corners  of  his  chin.  Then  he  cast  a 
distrustful  glance  over  his  shoulder,  to  see  if  the 
streetcar  were  still  in  sight. 

After  the  fashion  of  streetcars,  it  had  moved 
itself  out  of  the  landscape.  Its  place  was  taken 
by  a  stout  little  Canadian  pony  that  came  scram- 
bling around  the  bend  of  Palace  Hill,  its  sturdy 
forelegs  stiff  and  straight  under  the  pull  of  its 
high,  wood-laden  cart.  Another  pony  followed, 
and  still  another,  their  drivers  seated  astride  the 
load,  shouting  and  cracking  their  whips  in  a  lusty 
chorus  which  reminded  Sir  George  of  something 
he  had  heard  once  in  an  opera.  As  if  to  verify 
the  impression,  he  glanced  up  at  the  background 
of  mountains,  purple  in  the  light  of  a  coming 
storm,  which  ringed  in  the  Saint  Charles  valley 
at  his  feet.  Then,  as  the  unmistakable  buzz  of 
an  electric  car  came  faintly  up  to  his  ears,  he 
faced  about  again  with  a  jerk.  An  instant  later, 
the  car  came  around  the  turn  from  the  trestle, 


108  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

and,  by  rare  good  fortune,  its  end  also  bore  the 
reassuring  label  Chdteau  Frontenac.  Sir  George's 
brow  cleared,  and  he  relaxed  the  pressure  on  his 
lips. 

"I  'm  here,"  he  communed  with  himself;  "and 
I  can't  well  lose  myself,  with  the  tram  passing 
the  gate.  It  looks  the  sort  of  thing  she  'd  like, 
and  I  fancy  I  'd  best  go  inside  and  see  the  place 
for  myself.  She  '11  row,  if  I  crib  too  much  out  of 
Baedeker,  you  know." 

Once  more  and  a  bit  distrustfully,  he  glanced 
back  over  his  shoulder.  Then  for  an  instant,  he 
showed  signs  of  hesitating  between  the  two  means 
of  entrance.  A  high,  wide  flight  of  steps  led  to 
the  main  door.  A  low  archway  seemed  to  give 
admission  to  the  inner  recesses  of  the  place.  Sir 
George  chose  the  latter  path,  moved  thereto,  how- 
ever, less  by  the  instinct  of  exploration  than  by 
his  natural  indolence  which  made  the  steps  look 
to  him  unduly  high  and  steep. 

The  man  working  at  the  door  sought  to  chal- 
lenge his  passage  through  the  arch  ;  but  Sir 
George,  giving  him  a  card  and  a  stony  glare, 
prevailed  and  went  his  way. 

"I  must,  you  know,"  he  said  firmly.  "I  must 
see  what 's  inside." 

Dubiously  the  man  shook  his  head.  Contact 
with  many  tourists  had  taught  him  to  under- 


IN   QUEBEC  109 


stand  a  few  words  of  the  American  tongue.  Sir 
George,  however,  might  have  been  talking  in 
Cingalese,  for  anything  the  man  could  prove  to 
the  contrary.  He  shook  his  head;  then  he 
stepped  back  and  Sir  George  passed  in  beyond 
him. 

The  archway  opened  on  a  square  and  grassy 
court,  flanked  on  four  sides  by  the  building. 
At  right  angles  to  it,  another  arch,  lower  and 
much  more  ancient,  pierced  the  wall  and  led 
into  another  court  which  was  barred  across  by 
a  high  wooden  fence.  Sir  George,  straying  aim- 
lessly onward,  came  to  the  fence  and,  of  a  sudden, 
discovered  that  the  fence  was  cut  by  a  narrow  door 
and  that  the  door  was  slightly  ajar.  Modesty  was 
not  a  ruling  attribute  of  the  life  of  Sir  George  Por- 
teous.  He  pushed  open  the  door  and  walked  in. 
A  garden  was  beyond,  and  beyond  that  another 
fence.  On  the  west,  a  long,  low  wing  of  the 
building  showed  itself  ;  and,  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  enclosure,  a  high  stone  wall  shut  off  all 
sight  of  the  outer  world.  Everywhere  was  quiet ; 
everywhere  was  the  mark  of  age-long  peace.  Sir 
George's  step  grew  more  alert.  He  had  not  counted 
on  finding  anything  in  America  so  ripely  artistic 
as  this  quiet  nook.  He  crossed  the  garden  and 
laid  his  hand  boldly  upon  the  latch  of  the  gate  in 
the  wall  at  the  farther  end.  The  gate  yielded, 


110  JANET:    HER    WINTER 

and  he  walked  into  the  place  beyond.     Then  he 
halted  and  stared  about  him. 

"  By  George !  "  he  said.  "  Oh,  by  George ! 
How  rummy !  " 

His  chin  raised,  that  his  eyeglass  might  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  walls  around  him,  he 
still  went  straying  forward,  stumbling  slightly 
over  irregularities  in  the  ground.  Then  sud- 
denly he  gave  a  violent  start.  He  had  been  sup- 
posing the  place  quite  deserted.  It  was  most 
disconcerting  to  be  brought  to  an  abrupt  halt  by 
a  hand  laid  on  one's  arm.  The  touch  was  gentle ; 
but  its  gentleness  held  no  hint  of  indecision. 

"  Eh  ?    Oh,  I  say,  what 's  the  matter  ?  " 

As  he  spoke,  Sir  George  turned  about  sharply. 
Then  he  dodged  back  and  made  an  ineffective 
snatch  at  his  hat.  Instead  of  the  masculine  care- 
taker that  he  had  expected,  Sir  George  Porteous 
found  himself  staring  at  a  thin  French  face  set 
in  stiff  folds  of  white.  His  eyes  dropped,  trailing 
aimlessly  over  the  bunchy  dress,  the  stout,  coarse 
shoes  and  at  last  coming  to  rest  upon  the  ground. 
Then  he  raised  his  eyes  again..  The  nun's  face 
was  plainly  accusing.  Another  nun,  sprung  up 
from  somewhere,  was  at  his  other  side,  and,  from 
across  the  courtyard,  two  more  nuns,  framed  in 
an  open  doorway,  pointed  their  fingers  at  him  in 
ghostly  admonition. 


IN  QUEBEC  111 


"Oh,  good  morning,"  Sir  George  said,  as  affably 
as  he  was  able.  "  It 's  a  fine  place  here.  I  think 
I  'd  like  to  come  back  to-morrow,  you  know,  and 
bring  a  fellow  to  take  some  pictures. " 

The  first  nun  shook  her  head. 

"It  would  not  be  permitted,"  she  said  in 
French. 

Sir  George  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket, 
produced  his  card  and  held  it  out  to  the  nun. 
The  nun  stared  at  it  uncomprehendingly. 

"I  do  not  wish  a  ticket,"  she  said,  in  slow, 
halting  English.  "There  is  no  admission  here." 

Sir  George  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  know.  Of  course,  you  can't  have  any  tourist 
fellows  here.  But  Lady  Dudsworth  is  interested 
in  hospitals,  you  know.  She  is  on  boards  and 
things,  and  she  likes  facts  and  -  Sir  George 
suddenly  felt  an  inspiration  coming,  and  his  tone 
grew  more  animated;  "and  I  thought  you  could 
give  her  a  lot  of  new  ideas.  It 's  ideas,  you 
know,  she  ought  to  have." 

The  nun's  narrow  comprehension  of  English 
caused  her  inability  to  comment  upon  the  strange 
workings  of  heredity.  Instead,  her  clutch  on  his 
arm  tightened. 

"Monsieur  must  go  out,"  she  said  firmly. 

"But  I  can  come  back?"  Sir  George's  tone 
was  charged  with  hope. 


112  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"It  is  impossible." 

"Oh,  but  I  must." 

"  No  one  is  allowed  to  come  here. " 

Sir  George  peered  up  at  his  companion,  and 
his  countenance  expressed  vague  wonderment. 

"But  I  'HI  here,  you  know,  and  so  are  you,"  he 
protested. 

"It  is  not  allowed." 

Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"  But  it  is.     Else,  how  did  I  get  here  ?  " 

The  question  was  unanswerable.  The  nun  could 
only  repeat  her  order  for  exit.  This  time,  the 
second  nun  came  to  her  aid. 

"You  must  go,"  she  said,  with  calm  and 
spectral  dignity;  and,  as  she  spoke,  Sir  George 
felt  her  hand,  gentle,  but  viselike,  shut  upon  his 
other  arm. 

For  one  long  instant,  he  stood  there,  powerless 
to  step  and  staring  alternately  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  placid,  determined  faces  swathed  in 
their  linen  folds.  Then  he  sought  his  glass ;  but, 
dangling  just  out  of  reach,  it  eluded  his  fingers. 
The  clasp  on  his  arm  relaxed  no  whit  of  its  steadi- 
ness. Then  Sir  George  Porteous  yielded  to  the 
inevitable. 

"Oh,  I  say,  I'll  go,  if  you  want,"  he  said 
hurriedly.  "  But  arc  n't  you  a  bit,  oh,  a  bit 
exacting  with  a  fellow  ?  " 


IN  QUEBEC  113 


As  he  spoke,  he  took  a  step  forward  in  the 
direction  of  the  gate  by  which  he  had  entered 
the  court.  To  his  surprise,  the  two  nuns  each 
made  a  step  forward  also,  and  their  steps  were 
measured  to  his  with  a  mathematical  exactness. 
Sir  George  made  a  tentative  gesture  with  his 
pinioned  arms.  The  gesture  ended  with  the 
first  inch  of  swing. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  trouble  yourselves  to  come 
along,  too,"  Sir  George  protested  hastily.  "I 
know  the  way  out." 

Without  loosing  her  hold  of  her  captive,  the 
first  nun  paused  to  lock  the  gate  through  which 
they  had  come  and  to  pocket  the  key.  Then  she 
faced  forward  again. 

"It  is  necessary,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  know  the  way  quite  well.  It  is  only  a 
step,  you  know,  just  around  the  corner  to  the 
street. " 

The  second  nun  spoke. 

"We  will  accompany  monsieur." 

Again  Sir  George  made  an  almost  imperceptible 
experiment  on  his  arms.  In  response,  the  grip  on 
either  side  tightened  a  little.  Sir  George  lost  his 
temper. 

"Oh,  by  George!"  he  said  testily.  "You 
need  n't  take  me  all  the  way  out  to  the  street 
in  this  fashion.  It 's  beastly,  you  know.  A  fel- 

8 


114  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

low  would  think  you  thought  I  was  watching  my 
chance  to  break  into  your  blasted  garden  and  steal 
things." 

But  the  grip  held  firm,  and  the  silence  was 
unbroken.  And  so,  protesting  volubly  and  fac- 
ing one  and  then  the  other  of  his  impassive  jailers 
with  irate  glances  which,  however,  lacked  the 
compelling  power  of  his  eyeglass,  dangling  and 
clicking  impotently  against  the  buttons  of  his 
waistcoat,  Sir  George  Porteous  was  conducted 
forth  from  the  garden,  a  twentieth-century  Adam 
in  the  unrelaxing  grasp  of  a  pair  of  Eves. 

Breakfast  over,  that  Monday  morning,  Day  had 
stood  long  before  her  window,  staring  down  into 
the  street  with  unseeing  eyes  which  took  no  heed 
of  the  procession  streaming  towards  the  post  office 
and  the  business  streets  beyond.  All  the  day  be- 
fore, as  if  to  prove  to  Ronald  how  little  difference 
their  talk  had  really  made,  Day  had  watched  his 
moods  and  fitted  herself  into  them  with  the  skill 
which  came  to  her  now  and  then.  Ronald's  face, 
overcast  at  breakfast  when  the  memory  of  his  late 
talk  with  his  mother  was  still  fresh  upon  him, 
had  brightened  by  noon.  Over  the  dinner  table 
at  night,  it  still  wore  the  alert  smile  it  had  taken 
on  during  their  long  afternoon  tramp  out  the 
Grande  Allde  and  far  into  the  country  beyond. 
It  was  in  a  frame  of  mind  dangerously  near  to 


IN  QUEBEC  115 

smug  content  that  Day  watched  him  starting  for 
vespers  at  Saint  Matthews  in  company  with  Janet. 
Then  she  turned  away  and  entered  her  mother's 
sitting-room.  She  found  Rob  there  alone;  and, 
for  the  hour,  Rob  showed  himself  taciturn  and 
glum.  When  Day  put  herself  to  bed,  that 
night,  her  girlish  head  was  full  of  the  notion 
that  boys  were  extremely  hard  to  manage,  and 
cranky  withal. 

The  notion  was  still  there,  the  next  morning; 
but  it  was  tempered  with  a  hazy  idea  that,  up  to 
now,  she  had  made  no  especial  effort  to  manage 
her  brother;  that,  rather  than  that,  she  had  lav- 
ished all  her  care  upon  Ronald  Leslie.  To  be 
sure,  Ronald  needed  it  more.  Life  was  very 
full  of  disappointments  to  him  just  then,  and  no 
decent  girl  could  sit  by  and  watch  his  brave  way 
of  going  without  things  he  liked,  and  make  no 
effort  to  fill  in  the  gap.  Ronald  was  such  a  dear, 
and  so  plucky.  He  answered  so  quickly  to  her 
efforts  to  cheer  him  up.  It  did  seem  as  if  Rob  — 

Three  soldiers  passed  the  window,  their  brief 
capes  swinging  in  time  to  their  stride,  their  dimin- 
utive caps  poised  insecurely  above  their  right  ears. 
Two  nuns  followed  them,  nuns  whose  dove-coloured 
cloaks  showed  that  they  had  come  from  the  Fran- 
ciscan convent  out  on  the  Grande  Alle'e.  Then 
came  a  portly,  scarlet-coated  officer,  and  behind 


116  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

him  the  Dean,  stepping  briskly  along  on  his 
gaitered  legs  which  offered  trig  contrast  to  the 
trio  of  black  soutanes  behind  him.  Day  re- 
called her  wandering  attention  with  a  jerk. 
Starting  with  the  soldiers,  it  had  gone,  by  swift 
and  devious  courses,  around  to  her  brother,  now 
shut  up  in  his  own  room  across  the  hall.  Per- 
haps Rob  was  facing  some  disappointments,  too. 

Day  rarely  was  a  girl  of  many  hesitations. 
Now,  opening  her  door,  she  crossed  the  hall 
and  tapped  lightly  on  the  opposite  panels. 

"Come."  The  answering  tone  was  indifferent, 
indifferent  the  eyes  which  looked  up  from  the 
book. 

However,  Day  was  not  to  be  daunted.  If,  as 
she  shrewdly  suspected,  hers  was  the  blame,  then 
hers,  also,  the  cure. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"Reading." 

"What?" 

"A  book." 

"So  I  observe,"  she  said  coolly,  as  she  drew  up 
a  chair  and  dropped  down  at  his  side.  "Look 
up,  Rob,  and  tell  me  whether  it  is  half  so  inter- 
esting as  I  am." 

Her  wheedling  tone  was  not  to  be  resisted. 
Rob's  hand  shut  on  her  hair,  then  turned  her 
head  about,  until  their  eyes  met 


IN  QUEBEC  117 


"  Not  half, "  he  answered,  smiling.  "  Now  trot 
along  and  be  a  good  girl." 

"But  I  can't,"  she  said.  "It's  not  in  me." 
Then,  obeying  some  sudden  impulse,  she  reached 
out  and  took  possession  of  his  hand.  "Rob,"  she 
added,  with  manifest  effort;  "I  —  1  believe  I've 
been  a  good  deal  of  a  pig." 

The  book,  sliding  to  the  floor,  was  allowed  to 
rest  there,  face  down  and  a  leaf  turned  edgewise, 
while  Rob  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  faced  his 
sister  in  astonishment. 

"  Why,  Day,  what 's  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  her. 

"You."  The  answer  was  accompanied  by  a 
laugh  which  threatened  to  become  hysterical. 

"I?     What  have  I  done  ?" 

"Nothing.  It's  I.  At  least,  I  haven't  done 
things,"  she  explained  incoherently.  "Rob,  do 
you  think  I  'm  very  horrid  ?  " 

Rob  Argyle  possessed  no  more  than  his  own  due 
share  of  masculine  obtuseness.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  at  a  loss  to  explain  Day's  sudden  outburst  of 
self-reproach.  Whatever  its  cause,  however,  her 
woe  was  obviously  real.  Obeying  the  sixth  sense 
which  comes,  at  times  like  this,  to  young  fellows 
who  have  lived  much  in  the  open  air,  he  put  out 
his  arm  and  gathered  Day  into  its  curve.  To  his 
surprise,  he  was  conscious  of  a  momentary  nest- 
ling against  his  shoulder. 


118  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"What  is  it,  Day?"  he  asked  again.  "Is 
something  wrong  ? " 

"Everything  is,"  she  made  comprehensive  an- 
swer for,  like  most  self-reliant  girls,  once  she 
gave  in  to  her  emotions,  they  swept  her  off  her 
feet. 

Over  the  top  of  her  unconscious  head,  Rob 
smiled  ever  so  slightly.  He  had  had  little  ex- 
perience of  girlish  woe.  Nevertheless,  he  kept 
the  amusement  all  out  of  his  voice,  as  he  said,  — 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  " 

"I  've  been  off  too  much  with  Ronald." 

Light  suddenly  began  to  dawn  upon  the  dark 
places  of  Rob's  mind. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  You  and  Ronald  have  been  fight- 
ing. Never  mind,  dear.  Let  him  alone,  and  he  '11 
come  round  in  time." 

The  words  were  wholly  soothing.  Not  so  the 
tone.  Day  raised  her  head  abruptly. 

"Ronald  never  fights,"  she  said,  with  sudden 
tartness.  "He  is  a  dear."  Then  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  albeit  a  little  reluctantly,  for  the  curving 
grasp  of  Rob's  strong  arm  had  somehow  carried 
her  back  to  the  memory  of  her  little  childhood 
which,  a  moment  before,  had  seemed  so  remote 
and  dim. 

Rob  looked  up  at  her  in  surprise.  As  yet,  he 
was  wholly  unable  to  fathom  the  workings  of  the 


IN  QUEBEC  119 


feminine  mind.  Slowly  he  rose  and  stood  facing 
her. 

"You're  not  going  to  leave  me  alone  in  my 
glory,  Day  ?  I  thought  you  had  come  to  stay." 

She  had  meant  to  leave  him  at  once.  His 
accent  broke  down  her  sudden  antagonism,  how- 
ever, and  her  step  halted.  Swiftly  she  went  back 
to  the  first  intention  which  had  brought  her  to  his 
room. 

"  I  came  to  see  if  you  'd  take  me  out  for  a 
drive,"  she  suggested. 

Gravely  Rob  looked  down  into  her  uplifted 
face,  noting,  as  he  did  so,  the  unwonted  gentle- 
ness which  rested  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  Fibbing,  Day ;  or  do  you  truly  want  to  go  ?  " 
he  asked. 

And  she  did  fib  bravely. 

"I  do  want  to  go,  Rob.  Else,  I  shouldn't  ask 
you." 

Apparently  his  scrutiny  of  her  face  satisfied 
him,  for  his  own  face  brightened. 

"Good  child!  I'd  love  it.  Let's  make  it  a 
walk,  instead ;  that  is,  unless  you  'd  freeze  at  my 
pace." 

"  But  ought  you  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  Hang  the  ought.  I  '11  risk  it,  if  you  will. 
Everyone  says  it  is  bound  to  snow,  to-morrow, 
and  that  will  shut  me  up,  tighter  than  a  drum. 


120  ./.LV/iT:   IlKR    WINTER 

Get  your  hat  on,  Day,  and  we  '11  take  our  last 
fling  and  forget  the  consequences,"  he  said  jovi- 
ally, as  he  stooped  for  his  stick.  "These  cabbies 
all  turn  the  same  corners  and  spin  the  same  yarns. 
Take  me  into  a  new  quarter,  Day,  there  's  a  good 
soul." 

And  Day,  as  she  went  hurrying  away  for  her 
hat  and  coat,  ransacked  her  mind  how  best  to 
obey  his  behest.  It  was  not  too  easy  to  explore 
new  territory  within  the  limits  of  a  half-mile 
radius.  Nevertheless,  Day's  mood  was  one  of 
supreme  content.  Bob  had  ceased  to  glower, 
and  her  own  conscience  had  ceased  to  lacerate 
her  self-esteem.  Moreover,  Rob  in  his  present 
mood  promised  to  be  a  comrade  second  in  inter- 
est to  none. 

Half  an  hour  later,  at  the  bend  of  Palace  Hill, 
Day  stood  waiting  for  Rob  to  get  himself  down 
the  steps  of  the  car. 

"Just  a  little  way  around  here,"  she  said 
eagerly.  "  It 's  the  sweetest  place,  endlessly 
old  and  picturesque.  I  know  you  '11  love  it." 

Rob,  safely  on  the  ground,  started  to  reply. 
Then  he  held  his  peace  and  raised  his  head  to 
listen  to  a  faint  and  distant  hail. 

"Oh,  I  say!     Come  here,  you  know." 

The  voice  was  familiar,  familiar,  too,  the  wide- 
spanned  A.  Rob  turned  about  alertly.  The  next 


IN   QUEBEC  121 


instant,  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  Close 
at  hand  rose  the  massive  bulk  of  the  Hotel 
Dieu,  its  front  pierced  by  one  wide  archway. 
Out  through  the  archway  towards  the  street,  pro- 
testing, vociferating,  expostulating,  his  hat  awry 
and  his  arms  rampantly  akimbo,  there  came  Sir 
George  Porteous.  And,  on  either  side  of  Sir 
George  Porteous,  clasping  his  manly  arm  with  an 
iron,  but  nerveless  hand,  there  walked  a  guardian 
nun,  stern,  impenetrable  and  wholly  unrelenting. 

From  afar,  Sir  George  spied  Rob,  hailed  him 
as  an  old  acquaintance. 

"Come  here,"  he  iterated  shrilly. 

And  Rob  came,  more  hastily  than  was  quite 
good  for  his  lame  leg;  but  Sir  George  manifestly 
considered  himself  in  need  of  succour. 

"  What 's  the  trouble  ?  "  he  queried,  just  as  the 
two  nuns,  arriving  at  the  end  of  the  arch,  let  go 
their  captive's  elbows  and  stepped  back  into  its 
shadowy  interior. 

Sir  George  looked  helplessly  at  Rob,  distrust- 
fully at  the  nuns,  made  a  tentative  gesture  to  dis- 
cover whether  his  arms  were  really  free;  then, 
finding  that  they  were,  he  straightened  his  hat 
and  grasped  the  string  of  his  eyeglass. 

"There  's  been  an  awful  row,  you  know,"  he  ex- 
plained then.  "  These  —  er  —  these  ladies  took 
me  for  a  sneak  thief  after  their  fruit,  or  some- 


122  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

thing,  and  they  insisted  upon  putting  me  out. 
Really,  they  're  very  strong  ladies,"  he  added 
reminiscently.  "They  must  go  in  for  a  great 
deal  of  exercise,  and  that.  I  wish  you  'd  please 
tell  them  that  you  know  me,  and  that  I  'm  not 
given  to  breaking  into  things." 

But  Day  had  come  up  to  Rob's  side. 

"  What  about  the  fort  at  Levis  ?  "  she  inquired 
unexpectedly. 

Sir  George  faced  around  and  stared  at  her  in 
amazement 

"Oh,  is  it  you  ?"  he  said  dispassionately  then. 
"Seems  to  me  you  are  always  about." 


IN  QUEBEC  123 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 

AS  a  matter  of  local  loyalty,  the  Leslies  had 
long  since  become  life  members  of  the 
Historical  Society.  As  a  matter  of  pure  conven- 
ience and  because  it  gave  access  to  the  only 
English  library  within  reach,  the  Argyles  had 
lost  no  time  in  being  proposed  for  membership. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  the  cozy  little  library 
was  a  familiar  haunt  to  all  four  of  the  young 
people.  Rob  Argyle,  in  particular,  had  been 
prompt  in  assuming  it  as  his  own. 

To  Rob's  no  slight  disgust,  he  had  found  that 
the  fall  of  winter  was  curtailing  even  his  narrow 
range  of  liberty  to  a  most  surprising  extent.  At 
their  best,  in  summer  and  to  active  legs,  Quebec 
sidewalks  are  none  too  safe.  The  insecure  board- 
ing, striped  with  wide  cracks,  the  unexpected  steps 
at  the  corners  of  the  streets:  these  are  gloomily 
suggestive  of  sprained  ankles  to  come.  Covered 
with  the  white  frosts  of  autumn,  they  become 
dangerous ;  overlaid  with  a  thin  coating  of  hard- 
trodden  snow,  they  are  altogether  deadly.  For 
a  week  after  the  first  snowfall,  Rob  managed  to 


124  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

reach  the  terrace  in  safety.  On  the  eighth  day, 
emboldened  by  his  success,  he  attempted  to  in- 
clude the  post  office  in  his  morning  walk.  The 
ninth  day  he  spent  in  bed,  preaching  prudence  to 
himself  and  nursing  his  twisted  leg.  All  in  all, 
the  past  four  weeks  had  showed  a  marked  gain. 
He  could  not  afford  to  lose  it  all,  for  the  sake  of 
being  blown  to  an  intoxicating  sort  of  breathless- 
ness  on  the  wind-swept  terrace.  Towards  night, 
he  fell  to  casting  about  in  his  own  mind  for  a 
new  occupation. 

He  found  it  at  the  library.  By  the  direct  path 
along  Sainte  Ursule  Street,  the  library  was  five 
minutes'  walk  away.  It  took  fifteen  to  reach  it 
on  the  cars  which  passed  both  doors.  However, 
time  was  not  valuable  to  Rob ;  and,  morning  after 
morning,  he  clambered  out  of  the  car,  entered  the 
low  yellow  building  and  mounted  the  single  flight 
of  stairs.  Once  inside  the  wide,  warm  room  and 
divested  of  his  coat  and  hat,  Rob  lost  no  time  in 
possessing  himself  of  a  book  and  seeking  the  place 
he  had  chosen  as  his  own,  in  one  of  the  deep  case- 
ments in  the  far  corner  of  the  room  behind  the 
card  catalogue.  Seated  there,  his  lame  foot  in  a 
chair  before  him  and  his  elbows  on  his  knees  be- 
side the  open  book,  Rob  lost  himself  to  time  and 
place,  while  he  ranged  up  and  down  the  world  by 
the  side  of  the  explorers  and  adventurers  whose 


IN  QUEBEC  125 


stories  lined  a  goodly  part  of  the  walls.  Read- 
ing had  been  an  acquired  taste  for  Rob.  By  now, 
however,  owing  to  stress  of  circumstances,  he  had 
acquired  it  thoroughly.  Had  the  chance  offered, 
he  would  have  stood  on  the  poop  deck  by  the  side 
of  Captain  Cook.  Chance  forbidding,  he  would 
read  of  the  experiences  of  the  lucky  fellow  who 
did. 

Without  the  resource  of  the  library,  Rob  would 
have  found  time  hanging  heavy  on  his  hands,  that 
winter.  Janet  and  he  were  firm  friends,  and, 
little  by  little,  Day  was  creeping  towards  her  old 
place  in  his  life.  However,  they  were  girls,  and 
talked  about  clothes  and  lacework  and  the  way 
they  did  their  hair.  When  he  was  with  the  two 
of  them,  Rob  endured  their  chatter  as  best  he 
might;  but  it  palled  on  him  and  usually  ended 
by  driving  him  out  of  the  room.  Once  out  of 
hearing,  however,  he  told  himself  that  some 
things  might  be  worse.  He  did  not  allow  him- 
self to  be  specific;  but  there  still  lurked  in  his 
mind  the  memory  of  one  stormy  night  when  Day, 
coming  in  all  aglow  with  exercise,  had  taken  pity 
on  his  loneliness  and,  dropping  down  on  the  rug 
at  his  side,  had  attempted  to  talk  football  to  him. 
Rob's  sense  of  humour  had  brought  him  trium- 
phantly through  the  ordeal.  Nevertheless,  he  saw 
to  it  that  the  experience  should  never  be  repeated. 


126  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

As  a  general  thing,  Ronald  and  Rob  let  each 
other  severely  alone.  Questioned,  neither  one  of 
them  could  have  given  reason  for  the  mutual 
avoidance.  Both  were  well-born,  well-bred.  The 
three  years'  difference  in  their  ages  counted  for 
little,  since  Rob  was  manly  and  self-reliant  to  a 
rare  degree.  They  never  clashed;  they  merely 
passed  each  other  by  on  the  other  side.  Ronald 
was  unfeignedly  sorry  for  Rob  and  showed  it.  He 
showed,  also,  a  courteous  tolerance  for  Rob's  hob- 
bies of  whose  charm  he  himself  had  no  comprehen- 
sion. He  loved  exercise;  but  he  hated  sports. 
American  football,  to  his  mind,  was  a  thing  to 
be  classed  with  the  bull  fights  of  Spain.  Rob's 
injury  was  one  more  proof  of  the  theory  he  had 
always  cherished.  He  pitied  the  injury,  but  he 
deplored  its  cause. 

Rob,  on  his  side,  accepted  the  pity  more  be- 
cause he  was  unable  to  help  himself  than  because 
he  was  grateful.  Judged  from  his  point  of  view, 
Ronald  was  a  nice,  ladylike  young  fellow  without 
the  ladylike  attitude  of  pretending  to  care  for 
sports.  Had  chance  not  placed  them  in  the  same 
domestic  circle,  that  winter,  Rob  would  never 
have  given  a  second  thought  to  Ronald  Leslie, 
save  in  so  far  as  Ronald  Leslie  monopolized  too 
great  a  share  of  Day's  time  and  attention. 
Forced  into  a  superficial  semblance  of  friend- 


IN  QUEBEC  127 


ship,  he  treated  Ronald  with  a  tolerance  which 
differed  from  that  which  Ronald  accorded  him 
in  being  easy  and  wholly  careless.  He  totally 
failed  to  appreciate  the  real  manliness  of  the 
young  Canadian,  the  quiet  pluck  with  which  he 
had  set  himself  to  work  to  make  the  best  of  his 
fallen  fortune.  Now  and  then,  however,  his  con- 
science did  smite  him  a  little,  as  he  marked  the 
unfailing  kindliness  with  which  Ronald  looked 
out  for  his  physical  weakness.  Rob  hated  being 
looked  out  for.  Nevertheless,  he  could  not  fail 
to  be  struck  by  Ronald's  constant  heed  of  his 
comfort. 

"And  yet,  do  you  know,"  he  said  to  his  mother, 
one  night,  at  the  end  of  a  long  discussion  of  the 
whole  Leslie  family;  "good  as  the  fellow  is  — 
and  he  is  good,  too  —  he  gives  me  the  feeling 
that  he  is  best  off,  doddering  about  over  a  tea 
tray  and  holding  yarn  for  people  to  wind.  He  's 
a  nice  lady  and  a  pretty  one;  but,  after  all,  it 
is  the  old  crowd  of  the  fellows  that  I  am  pining 
to  see." 

And  he  did  pine  for  them,  too.  At  times,  the 
pining  was  acute ;  but  it  generally  happened  when 
he  was  alone  in  his  room  and  the  door  was  shut. 
Rob  Argyle  was  not  the  boy  to  let  his  voice  get 
pitched  to  a  minor  key.  His  mother,  watching 
him  sharply,  after  the  fashion  of  mothers,  saw 


128  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

the  heavy  drag  of  his  foot  and  thanked  Providence 
for  the  jolly  twinkle  in  the  keen  blue  eyes.  At 
best,  Rob's  healing  would  be  slow.  It  was  some- 
thing that  his  courage  bade  fair  to  outlast  it.  She 
rose,  crossed  the  room  and,  halting  by  his  chair, 
fondled  his  yellow  head  in  an  unspoken  caress 
which  Rob  answered  promptly  and  with  interest 
Their  weeks  together  in  the  little  foreign  city 
were  bringing  mother  and  son  into  closer  union 
than  they  had  ever  known  until  then.  Mrs. 
Argyle  was  the  one  living  person  to  whom  Rob 
had  ever  confessed  either  pain  or  dreariness  of 
spirit  And  she  was  shrewd  enough  to  know 
what,  from  a  boy  like  Rob,  such  confessional 
was  worth. 

The  raw  wind,  sweeping  down  Saint  Louis 
Street,  bit  furiously  at  Rob's  ears,  one  morning 
in  early  December,  as  he  stood  on  the  curbstone, 
waiting  for  the  car  to  take  him  to  the  library. 
The  gray  sky,  heavy  with  unfallen  snow,  seemed 
resting  on  the  city  spires,  and  the  river,  as  he 
rounded  the  curve  by  the  Chateau,  showed  itself 
a  sea  of  chopping,  white-capped  waves.  Even  in 
the  moment  it  took  him  to  transfer  from  car  to 
car,  Rob  was  chilled  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 
No  New  England  gale  would  ever  have  had  half 
the  cunning  to  discover  the  narrow  crack  between 
his  neck  and  his  high,  close  collar.  He  shrugged 


IN  QUEBEC  129 


his  shoulders  with  a  reminiscent  shiver,  as  the 
door  finally  closed  behind  him,  and  the  warm  air 
of  the  library  wrapped  itself  about  him  gratefully. 

The  place,  as  was  usual  in  the  mornings,  was 
quite  deserted.  The  librarian,  busy  at  his  desk, 
tossed  him  a  cordial  nod,  as  the  familiar  step 
sounded  on  the  threshold.  Rob  halted  to  speak 
to  him,  halted  again  beside  the  table  to  choose  a 
couple  of  new  magazines,  then  crossed  the  room 
in  search  of  his  corner  and  of  oblivion. 

An  hour  later,  he  roused  himself  with  a  jerk  and 
came  back  to  his  surroundings.  Janet,  powdered 
with  snow  from  head  to  heel,  had  plumped  herself 
down  in  the  window  by  his  side,  and  the  cold 
drops,  falling  from  her  shoulders,  were  raining 
down  across  his  sleeve. 

"  Hullo,  Janet !  You  here  ?  "  Rob  nodded  and 
yielded  her  a  few  inches  more  of  space. 

"  I  came  to  return  a  book.  What  are  you  read- 
ing ?  Yes,  we  can  talk.  The  librarian  has  gone, 
and  there  's  not  a  soul  here  but  ourselves.  Did 
you  know  it  was  snowing  ?  " 

Rob  shook  a  small  pool  out  of  a  hollow  of  his 
sleeve. 

"  I  gathered  the  fact  from  your  appearance. " 

"Gathered  the  water,  you  'd  better  say."  And 
Janet  brushed  him  off  remorsefully,  then  shook 
herself  much  as  a  Newfoundland  dog  might  have 

9 


130  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

done.  "  Look  out  of  the  window, "  she  bade  him 
then. 

Obediently  Rob  turned  about.  Then  he  gave  a 
sharp  exclamation  of  surprise.  According  to  his 
wont,  he  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in  the 
printed  page  before  him  to  heed  the  picture  out- 
side the  window.  Now  he  found  himself  staring 
into  a  white  mist  of  whirling,  eddying  flakes 
which  completely  shut  out  from  sight  the  row 
of  buildings  just  across  the  narrow  court,  save 
when  some  gust  of  wind,  stronger  by  far  than 
its  fellows,  parted  the  flakes  and  drove  them 
slantwise,  to  disclose  the  gray  old  walls  beyond. 

"I  say,  this  looks  wintry,"  Rob  made  comment, 
while  there  deepened  upon  him  the  sense  of  com- 
fort gained  from  massy  walls  and  a  good  coal  fire. 
"  If  this  keeps  on,  I  'd  best  be  getting  home. " 
However,  as  he  spoke,  his  figure  relaxed  once 
more  against  the  wall  at  his  side.  "  What  have 
you  been  about,  this  morning,  Janet  ?  " 

Janet  laughed  a  little  shortly. 

"Fighting,"  she  answered. 

"  Who  now  ?  "  Rob  queried. 

His  question  was  wholly  jovial.  Nevertheless, 
Janet  read  into  it  an  implication  that  she  was 
prone  to  disagree,  and  she  answered  crisply,— 

"Day." 

"  What  is  the  row  with  Day  ?  "  Rob  asked  still 
jovially. 


IN  QUEBEC  131 


"  I  think  she  is  stuck  up. " 

Rob  closed  his  book  and  laid  it  down  in  the 
chair  before  him.  Then  he  faced  Janet  with 
honest,  friendly  blue  eyes. 

"Oh,  come  now,  Janet,  Day  is  my  sister.  I 
can't  let  you  go  on  talking  like  that,"  he  said. 

But  not  even  her  walk  in  the  wind  and  snow 
had  cooled  Janet's  warlike  ardour. 

"I  can't  help  it,  if  she  is  your  sister,"  she  said, 
with  a  tartness  which  was  rare  with  her.  "  If  you 
did  n't  want  the  answer,  you  should  n't  have  asked 
the  question." 

Silently  Rob  pondered  the  logic  of  her  position 
and  silently  admitted  its  force.  Then  he  asked,  — 

"  But  what  has  Day  done  ?  " 

"Criticized  everything." 

"Day  is  critical,"  Rob  acknowledged  grudg- 
ingly. "  I  've  come  in  for  a  share  of  it,  myself, 
sometimes.  What  now  ?  " 

"  Us, "  Janet  made  terse  answer. 

"  Meaning  ?  "  Rob  inquired. 

"Us.     All  of  us  here." 

"  Leslies,  or  here  in  the  library  ?  " 

Janet  laughed  scornfully. 

"Day  never  would  criticize  you,"  she  said,  and 
there  was  a  slightly  invidious  accent  upon  the 
pronoun. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure.  Why  not  ?  " 


132  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"You  're  an  American." 

"  Glory  be !  "  Rob  observed  piously,  but,  as  it 
proved,  with  injudicious  fervour. 

Janet  flounced  forward  and  put  her  elbows  on 
her  knees. 

"There  you  go!  You're  all  just  alike,"  she 
burst  out  hotly. 

For  a  moment,  Rob  eyed  her  askance.  Then 
he  leaned  back  and  clasped  his  hands  at  the  nape 
of  his  neck. 

"Feelings  ache  anywhere,  Janet?"  he  queried 
composedly. 

Up  to  that  hour,  Rob  Argyle  had  never  seen 
Janet,  when  she  was  really  roused;  he  had  no 
notion  how  far  her  irritation  would  go.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  had  made  no  effort  to  allay  her  ris- 
ing wrath ;  and  now  he  quailed  before  the  sudden 
fire  of  anger  that  blazed  up  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said  shortly.  "They  do.  What  is 
more,  you  are  responsible  for  it,  you  and  Day.  I 
can't  see  what  you  should  come  here  for,  when  you 
don't  like  us  any  better. " 

"Business,"  Rob  murmured,  almost  too  low  for 
Janet's  ears. 

"  Then  you  've  no  business  to  slander  us,  when 
you  get  here,"  she  retorted.  "If  you  take  the 
bread  and  butter  we  give  you,  you  've  no  right 
to  talk  against  us,  after  you  've  eaten  it " 


IN  QUEBEC  133 


Janet's  words  were  wholly  figurative.  Never- 
theless, Rob  made  the  blunder  of  interpreting 
them  literally,  blundered  in  his  very  perturba- 
tion, for  it  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon  him 
that  the  storm  within  was  becoming  quite  as 
fierce  as  the  storm  without. 

"  But,  Janet,  nobody  could  find  any  fault  with 
the  grub,"  he  said  hastily.  "Both  your  mother 
and  Marie  are  capital  cooks." 

She  raised  her  head  and  faced  him  haughtily. 

"  Who  said  they  were  not  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Nobody.  At  least  —  I  thought  —  Day  —  "  he 
faltered. 

"  Day !  "  An  echo  of  scorn  was  in  her  voice. 
"And  so  she  has  been  complaining  of  the  food, 
too  ? " 

Rob  looked  stunned  by  the  accusation  in  her 
tone. 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  —  " 

Impatiently  she  tapped  her  foot  on  the  carpet. 
The  fact  that  inadvertently  she  had  blundered  into 
a  quarrel  with  one  of  her  chiefest  friends  merely 
increased  her  fractiousness. 

"Let's  not  talk  about  it,"  she  said  shortly. 
"  We  only  disagree. " 

Turning,  Rob  faced  her  steadily,  a  world  of 
trouble  in  his  blue  eyes. 

"  Look  here,  Janet,  what  is  all  this  fuss  about, 
anyhow  ?  "  he  asked  directly. 


134  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"Oh,  nothing.     It  is  probably  all  my  fault." 

"  That 's  nonsense.  One  person  alone  never 
kicks  up  a  row  like  this,"  Rob  said  firmly.  "If 
I  've  done  it,  I  'm  sorry.  If  not,  who  has  ?  " 

For  some  strange  cause  which  lurked  in  the 
depths  of  her  own  conscience,  his  kindly  voice, 
his  steady  eyes,  his  willingness  to  take  his  own 
fair  share  of  blame  only  irritated  Janet  so  much 
the  more.  Or  was  it  that  the  irritation  was 
directed  against  herself  alone,  and  only  wreaked 
itself  upon  Rob  as  upon  the  nearest  victim  ? 

"  I  told  you  before  who  had  done  it.  It 's  you 
and  Day." 

"  What  have  we  done  ?  "  Rob  asked  in  amaze- 
ment. 

"Criticized  us  Canadians." 

Rob's  amazement  increased. 

"When?     How?     I  have  n't." 

"You  have.  You  do  it,  all  the  time.  You 
say  things,  and  so  does  Day;  and  then  you  look 
at  each  other  and  laugh. " 

Rob  felt  his  own  temper  going.  He  caught  fast 
hold  of  one  corner  of  it. 

"What  sort  of  things?" 

Janet  had  risen  now,  and  stood  looking  down 
at  him,  as  he  still  sat  in  the  wide,  deep  window 
casement.  Even  in  his  vexation,  Rob  was  boy 
enough  to  be  aware  that  never  had  she  looked 


IN  QUEBEC  135 


better  than  now,  with  the  scarlet  flush  in  her 
cheeks,  the  angry  light  blazing  in  her  eyes. 

"  All  sorts, "  she  made  vehement  answer. 

"  What  ?  "  he  demanded  no  less  vehemently. 
"  It 's  not  fair  to  hint  and  dodge,  Janet.  Speak 
out." 

"You  said  we  took  ourselves  too  much  in 
earnest." 

"Well,  you  do." 

"You  said  it  was  a  regular  Sleepy  Hollow." 

"Yes." 

"Day  criticizes  the  clothes  of  the  people  she 
meets  on  the  terrace." 

"Well?" 

"You  make  fun  of  our  little  street  cars." 

"Yes." 

"You  told  Day,  only  yesterday,  that  you 
couldn't  find  a  this-year  necktie  in  any  of  the 
shops. " 

"I  could  n't." 

Janet's  exasperation  hoiled  over. 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  have  told  of  it  at  the 
dinner  table.  How  do  you  suppose  it  made  us 
feel  ?  " 

Again  Rob's  temper  lost  itself  in  a  sea  of 
amazement. 

"But  you  don't  keep  the  shops." 

"No;  but  my  people  do." 


136  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"Oh.  Honestly,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Rob  said 
contritely.  "  The  name  and  all  —  how  could  I 
tell  ?  " 

Again  he  had  blundered.  He  knew  it  by  the 
sudden  lifting  of  her  resolute  little  chin. 

"That  will  do,  Rob  Argyle!  "  she  said  crisply. 
"  You  need  n't  imply  that  my  family  are  in  trade." 

"  But  you  said  your  people  —  " 

"  And  I  meant  my  people.  I  meant  us  Cana- 
dians." 

This  time,  Rob  lost  his  temper  utterly. 

"Hang  it  all,  Janet,  it  would  puzzle  a  Phila- 
delphia lawyer  to  know  what  it  is  you  really  do 
mean,"  he  said  sharply. 

She  had  turned  away.  At  his  words  and  his 
unexpected  tone,  she  faced  about  Even  then,  in 
the  height  of  her  anger,  she  felt  a  queer  little  tug 
at  her  heart,  as  she  saw  him  stoop  for  his  stick 
and  then  rise  with  the  stiffness  which  still  re- 
mained from  his  recent  fall.  Then  she  hardened 
her  heart  and,  with  it,  her  voice. 

"You  want  to  know  what  I  mean  ?  Well,  I  '11 
tell  you,  and  I  hope  you  '11  remember  it.  We  are 
Canadians  here,  not  Americans.  We  have  our 
Canadian  ways,  and  we  like  them.  We  are  n't 
big  and  busy  and  rushing  like  your  New  York. 
We  may  not  be  so  fashionable ;  we  may  wear  our 
clothes  a  little  longer  and  not  have  so  many  of 


IN  QUEBEC  137 


them.  We  may  not  have  such  wide  streets,  nor 
such  long  cars  in  them.  We  may  not  be  the  least 
bit  like  the  people  you  have  been  used  to  meeting 
in  New  York.  We  don't  care,  if  we  are  n't.  If 
we  'd  been  meant  to  be  just  like  New  York,  we 
should  probably  have  grown  just  as  big  and  busy 
and  fashionable.  We  are  n't.  We  're  not  New 
York,  but  Canada;  and  we  are  proud  of  being 
Canadians  and  of  taking  ourselves  in  earnest.  If 
you  don't  like  us,  you  can  stay  at  home.  For  my 
part,  I  wish  you  would." 

All  the  pent-up  nervous  energy  brought  on  by 
the  shock  of  her  father's  sudden  death,  by  the 
need  of  adjusting  her  girlish  plans  to  fit  their 
changed  conditions,  by  the  daily  and  hourly  wear 
and  tear  of  work  and  worry,  of  petty  snubs  and 
open  rudenesses :  all  this  was  pouring  forth  upon 
the  tide  of  her  own  words.  And,  under  all  her 
excitement,  she  fully  realized  whither  it  was 
carrying  her,  realized  it  and  regretted  it.  Never- 
theless, for  the  moment,  she  seemed  to  herself 
powerless  to  stem  the  tide  of  her  own  anger. 

Rob's  next  words,  however,  were  somewhat  of 
a  check. 

"  Do  you  truly  mean  that,  Janet  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  she  snapped,  wholly  resolved 
upon  sticking  to  her  guns,  now  that  they  really 
had  gone  into  action. 


138  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

For  a  moment,  as  they  stood  there  face  to 
face,  Rob  looked  at  her  steadily.  His  eyes 
alone  showed  his  trouble.  His  lips  were  firm, 
although  a  whitish  ring  around  them  betrayed 
the  fact  that,  heretofore,  his  life  had  been  singu- 
larly free  from  scenes  like  this. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  then. 

"  Sorry  for  what  ?     That  you  don't  like  us  ?  " 

"But  I  do  like  you,  Janet,"  he  interposed. 

"Yes,  when  I  amuse  you.  That  doesn't  keep 
you  from  making  fun  of  us,  behind  our  backs, 
though. " 

And  then  Rob's  anger  blazed. 

"Janet  Leslie,  I  '11  thank  you  to  remember  that 
I  'm  neither  a  sneak  nor  a  cad,"  he  said,  and  never 
before  in  his  sixteen  years  of  life  had  Rob  Argyle 
used  that  tone  to  girl  or  woman.  Then  the  train- 
ing of  generations  prevailed,  and  he  checked  him- 
self. He  turned  to  the  window,  and  bent  down 
to  pick  up  the  magazine  which  had  fallen  to  the 
floor. 

Slight  as  was  the  act,  he  was  conscious  of  per- 
forming it  stiffly,  clumsily,  and  it  was  a  moment 
before  he  was  upright  once  more.  As  he  finally 
straightened  up  to  face  Janet  again,  the  clang  of 
the  doorknob  told  him  that  Janet  had  left  the 
library  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 


IN  QUEBEC  139 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  clang  of  the  knob  brought  Rob  to  his 
senses,  brought  him  to  a  swift  realization 
that  he  must  not  let  Janet  escape  him  like  this. 
Since  his  infantine  squabbles  with  Day,  his  life 
had  been  uncommonly  free  from  quarrels  of  any 
sort.  Nevertheless,  he  was  quick  to  know  that, 
between  friends  such  as  he  and  Janet  had  been, 
every  minute  that  a  misunderstanding  is  pro- 
longed, increases  by  tenfold  the  difficulty  of 
breaking  it.  Rob's  own  irritation  had  been 
short-lived,  the  irritation  of  a  mastiff  when  a 
terrier  nips  at  his  ears.  Janet  had  been  cross, 
off  her  nerve.  Possibly  she  was  not  feeling  well, 
or  something  had  gone  wrong  at  home,  that  morn- 
ing. Anyway,  he  could  not  afford  to  quarrel  with 
the  girl ;  they  had  been  too  good  friends  for  that. 
As  fast  as  his  lame  leg  would  let  him,  Rob 
hobbled  across  to  the  door,  opened  the  door  and 
peered  over  the  rail  into  the  hall  beneath. 
"Janet!  "  he  said  to  the  silence.  "Oh,  Janet!  " 
But  the  silence  vouchsafed  no  answer. 


140  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

For  a  moment  longer,  he  waited  there  in  the 
chilly  hall.  It  seemed  incredible  to  him  that 
Janet  could  have  escaped.  Then  he  remem- 
bered that  he  was  not  so  quick  of  motion  as 
he  had  been,  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
Meanwhile,  the  air  of  the  hall  was  as  chilly  as 
the  silence.  He  returned  to  the  library  and 
put  on  his  coat  and  hat. 

"Party  's  over,"  he  said  whimsically  to  him- 
self, as  he  turned  up  his  collar  about  his  cars. 
"I  may  as  well  be  starting  for  home."  Then, 
as  he  glanced  out  the  window  by  his  side,  he 
added,  "Considering  all  things  and  the  weather, 
I  wish  I  were  at  home  now."  Then  slowly,  lag- 
gingly,  he  went  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the 
snow-filled  air  of  the  street 

For  a  time,  he  was  so  much  dazed  by  Janet's 
recent  display  of  mental  pyrotechnics  that  he  took 
no  heed  of  the  fact  that  the  rails  of  the  streetcar 
track  were  buried  beneath  an  unbroken  heap  of 
snow.  He  merely  stood  there  on  the  curb,  his 
shoulders  shrugged  together  and  his  back  to  the 
storm,  while  he  beguiled  the  period  of  waiting  for 
a  car  by  wondering  what  in  thunder  he  had  done 
to  put  Janet's  back  up,  and  what  in  thunder  her 
back  was  up  for,  anyway.  Then  a  sudden  and 
most  violent  gust  of  wind,  swirling  a  handful  of 
flakes  down  the  nape  of  his  neck,  roused  him  to 


IN  QUEBEC  141 


the  point  of  discovering  that  the  car  was  unreas- 
onably long  in  coming,  and  that  the  marrow  of 
his  bones  was  being  chilled  by  its  delay. 

"I  may  as  well  go  inside  the  door  and  wait, 
though  they  'd  never  hear  me  call,  the  wind 
makes  such  an  infernal  row,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, with  a  backward,  homesick  glance  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  yellow  walls  of  Morrin  College. 
Then  his  glance  sought  the  track.  "By  Jove," 
he  added ;  "  do  you  believe  the  cars  have  stopped 
running  ?  " 

Again  and  more  thoughtfully  he  peered  through 
the  falling  flakes,  hoping  to  see  some  break  in  the 
smooth  white  level  of  the  street,  some  sign  to 
show  that  a  car  had  passed  the  corner  within  the 
last  half  hour.  The  white  level  was  unscarred ; 
no  distant  hum  marked  the  approach  of  car  or 
sweeper,  and  the  wind  was  rising  with  every 
moment.  Rob  whistled  to  himself. 

"Oh,  come  now,"  he  said  aloud.  "Here's  a 
mess  for  a  poor  football  cripple !  What 's  doing 
now  ?  " 

The  roar  of  the  storm  was  his  only  answer,  and 
Rob  was  forced  to  set  his  own  wits  to  work  to 
answer  the  question. 

Swiftly  he  vetoed  the  idea  of  going  back  into 
the  library.  In  such  a  storm  as  this,  there  was 
scanty  chance  that  the  librarian  would  return. 


142  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

No  telling  how  long  he  might  have  to  stay  there, 
awaiting  succour.  And,  if-  the  fires  went  low  ? 
And,  besides,  he  would  need  things  to  eat. 
Canadian  beef  might  be  tough;  but,  at  least,  it 
was  preferable  to  book  bindings.  It  was  plain  no 
car  was  coming.  He  could  telephone  for  a  cab, 
if  he  only  knew  where  he  could  find  a  telephone. 
He  tried  to  study  the  skyline,  in  the  hope  of  dis- 
covering some  friendly  wire  branching  into  a 
house  near  by;  but  the  snowflakes,  veiling  the 
air,  set  his  eyes  to  tingling  with  their  impact 
and  then,  discovering  the  opening  in  the  front 
of  his  coat  collar,  sought  a  watery  grave  in  the 
warm  recesses  of  his  throat.  He  gasped  a  little, 
as  he  gave  up  the  attempt  and  tucked  his  chin 
down  in  his  collar  again. 

"No  go,"  he  said  then.  "Well,  all  right. 
I  '11  have  to  trip  it  on  the  light,  fantastic  toe. 
Glad  my  mother  is  n't  here,  to  hold  up  her  hands 
in  terror  for  her  first-born  son.  She  'd  throw  a 
fit,  if  she  knew  what  I  am  doing."  And,  pulling 
his  hat  still  lower  over  his  eyes,  he  started  for  the 
Ursule  Street  corner. 

Janet,  all  this  time,  was  sitting  enthroned  on  a 
dusty  heap  of  Mounted  Police  reports,  waiting  for 
Rob  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Thoroughly  ashamed 
of  herself  by  now,  she  had  no  wish  to  meet  his 
keen  blue  eyes  until  the  memory  of  her  recent  bad 


IN  QUEBEC  143 


temper  had  had  a  chance  to  blunt  itself  a  little. 
Her  earlier  disagreement  with  Day  had  been  but 
a  summer  squall  in  comparison  with  the  storm  of 
her  battle  with  Rob.  And  Rob,  of  late,  had  been 
walking  straight  into  the  king-row  of  her  chiefest 
friends  and  cronies.  Janet  shook  her  head  for- 
lornly, as  she  recalled  the  glint  in  his  blue  eyes 
and  the  tawny  red  which  now  and  then  showed 
itself,  when  the  sunlight  struck  across  his  yellow 
hair.  She  had  been  altogether  abominable;  she 
knew  it  now.  Her  penitence  came  as  suddenly  as 
her  wrath  had  done.  It  was  less  sound,  perhaps, 
for  as  yet  she  was  not  quite  ready  to  speak  out 
and  tell  how  truly  sorry  she  was.  Instead  of 
that,  when  Rob's  opening  the  door  above  had 
caught  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  she  had 
dodged  away,  out  of  his  sight.  Then,  fearful 
of  his  following  her,  she  noiselessly  pushed  open 
a  door  which  chanced  to  be  unlatched,  crossed 
the  threshold  and,  still  noiselessly,  closed  the 
door  behind  her.  The  next  moment,  she  found 
herself  safe  from  pursuit,  in  one  of  the  library 
vaults.  Rob  would  probably  start  for  home  now. 
She  would  wait  there,  until  he  had  had  time  to 
get  safely  out  of  the  way.  Then  she  would  betake 
herself  home  by  another  path.  She  would  make 
herself  late  for  lunch;  and,  by  dinner  time,  the 
whole  fray  would  have  passed  into  oblivion,  and 


144  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

she  and  Rob,  under  the  combined  eyes  of  their 
two  families,  would  meet  as  if  nothing  unusual 
had  occurred. 

Bravely  as  she  gave  herself  this  assurance, 
however,  in  her  secret  heart  she  was  conscious 
of  misgivings.  Suddenly  and  for  no  assignable 
cause,  she  had  been  volcanic.  Under  such  an 
assault,  even  a  worm  would  have  turned,  and 
Rob  Argyle  was  no  worm.  It  might  be  that 
his  forgiveness  would  be  slow  in  coining.  At 
least,  though,  he  was  too  much  the  gentleman 
to  show  his  open  hostility,  and  Janet  knew  his 
code  well  enough  to  be  sure  he  would  never  tell 
tales  to  anyone  but  Day.  The  worst  he  could  do, 
would  be  to  let  her  severely  alone.  Janet  sought 
to  extract  from  that  surety  what  lean  consolation 
she  could.  And,  after  all,  both  he  and  Day  did 
turn  up  their  noses  at  Quebec.  Only  the  night 
before,  Day  had  made  irreverent  comment  upon 
some  newly-arrived  wedding  cards.  To  Janet's 
loyal  mind,  comparisons  were  wholly  odious,  save 
when  the  balance  of  credit  was  obviously  upon  the 
side  of  her  own  city.  Still,  viewed  in  perspec- 
tive, a  haughty  disdain  would  have  been  a  better 
rebuke  than  any  amount  of  dudgeon.  Besides, 
she  was  not  altogether  sure,  now  it  was  all 
over,  that  Rob  ought  to  have  been  held  respon- 
sible for  the  utterances  of  his  sister. 


/AT   QUEBEC  145 

In  the  intervals  of  her  musings,  she  listened 
intently  for  the  sound  of  Rob's  halting  step  upon 
the  stairs.  The  vault  was  chilly,  and  she  had  no 
wish  to  linger  in  it  longer  than  was  absolutely 
necessary.  The  roar  of  the  storm,  however,  cut 
out  all  other  sounds,  and,  measured  only  by  its 
fitful  gusts,  she  found  it  impossible  to  make  any 
reckoning  of  time.  She  resolved  to  wait  a  little 
longer.  Any  physical  discomfort  was  preferable 
to  the  ignominy  of  throwing  open  the  door  and 
stepping  out  just  in  season  to  face  Rob,  as  he 
came  slowly  down  the  stairs.  She  could  fancy 
the  mirth  which  would  come  into  his  eyes  as  he 
met  her,  and  her  cheeks  grew  hot  at  the  thought. 
Rather  than  that,  she  would  stay  in  the  vaults 
until  the  crack  of  doom. 

Restlessly  she  rose  and  began  to  explore  her 
narrow  quarters,  moved  less  by  curiosity  than 
by  the  chill  of  the  place.  Long  decades  back, 
the  building  had  been  the  old  prison;  and  Janet 
found  herself  now  in  what  had  been  the  outer 
court  which  gave  access  to  the  solitary  cells. 
One  cell  was  now  given  up  to  the  furnace ;  an- 
other to  a  ragged  pile  of  blue-bound  government 
reports,  while  the  court  itself  was  partly  filled 
with  coal  and  lighted  but  dimly  by  one  window 
at  its  farther  end.  And  the  base  of  the  window, 

sunk  below  the  level  of  the  ground  beyond,  was 

10 


146  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

already  covered  with  a  light,  white  heap  of  snow. 
Janet  crossed  to  the  window  and  peered  out, 
shielding  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  the  while,  as 
if  to  ward  off  the  whirling  flakes  which  clicked 
ceaselessly  against  the  panes.  Then  she  gave  a 
little  shiver  of  disgust.  Born  and  bred  in  a  land 
where  winter  attains  its  full  perfection,  a  storm 
even  such  as  that  held  no  terrors  for  her.  Her 
disgust  was  all  for  the  lack  of  foresight  which 
had  led  her  to  come  out  with  neither  umbrella 
nor  overstockings,  and  arrayed  in  her  best  felt 
hat. 

Impatiently  she  turned  away  from  the  window. 
It  was  stupid  and  dusty  and  cold  in  there.  Rob 
must  be  gone  by  now.  She  had  been  in  there  for 
ages,  and  not  even  his  stiff  leg  could  consume  such 
an  amount  of  time  in  taking  him  out  of  the  build- 
ing. Anyway,  she  would  risk  it.  She  could  dodge 
back  again  out  of  sight,  if  she  heard  him  coming. 
Recklessly  she  crossed  the  room  again  and  laid 
her  hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  door. 

Again  and  again  she  tried  to  turn  the  knob, 
twisting  her  slender  wrists  until  they  ached, 
throwing  her  light  weight  against  the  massy 
door  and,  the  while,  making  little  impatient 
groans  of  baffled  energy.  At  last  she  aban- 
doned the  attempt,  abandoned,  too,  the  pride 
which  heretofore  had  kept  her  in  silent  hiding. 


IN   QUEBEC  147 


The  dusty  old  vault  echoed  with  her  calls  for 
help.  The  roar  of  the  storm,  drowning  her 
cries,  mocked  her  with  its  fury  just  as,  a  mo- 
ment before,  the  metal  bar  of  a  spring  lock  had 
made  mockery  of  her  futile  girlish  strength. 
Alone  in  the  vault  of  the  ancient  prison,  Janet 
Leslie  was  herself  a  prisoner,  and  the  storm 
was  the  jailer  who  saw  to  it  that  her  outcries 
should  be  unavailing. 

Luncheon  hour,  that  noon,  found  the  Leslie 
house  in  a  state  of  wild  confusion.  The  mid- 
day gun,  almost  inaudible  in  the  storm,  had 
boomed  out  over  the  terrace  before  Rob  Argyle, 
coated  with  snow  from  head  to  heel,  had  strug- 
gled around  the  corner  of  Ursule  Street  into  the 
boisterous  tunnel  of  Saint  Louis.  Twice  he  had 
slipped  and  fallen  in  the  snow;  three  times, 
floundering  along  through  the  irregular  drifts, 
he  had  wandered  off  the  board  sidewalk  into 
the  gutter.  Tired,  cold  and  aching  in  every 
joint  and  muscle,  he  reached  his  own  front 
steps  and,  too  chilled  to  seek  his  latchkey,  rang 
the  bell 

Day,  passing  through  the  hall,  glanced  up  at 
the  opening  door.  With  a  cry  which  summoned 
her  mother  to  the  hall,  she  dashed  forward  and 
dragged  her  brother  into  the  house. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  case  was  rather  serious. 


148  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  three  women  made  the 
most  of  it,  and  Rob  was  rubbed  and  dosed  and 
packed  into  bed  between  hot  blankets,  before  he 
was  allowed  to  tell  his  tale.  When  at  last  he 
did  tell  it,  it  was  brief. 

"The  blasted  cars  had  stopped  running,  and  I 
had  to  walk  home,"  was  all  the  account  of  his 
adventures  that  he  deigned  to  give,  and  it  was 
not  until  some  days  later  and  by  way  of  a  friend 
living  on  Sainte  Ursule  Street  that  Mrs.  Leslie 
knew  how  full  of  suffering  that  brief  walk  must 
have  been. 

Two  hours  later,  the  house  had  regained  its 
wonted  calm,  and  Rob,  his  inner  man  parboiled 
with  scalding  hot  tea  and  his  outer  man  swathed 
in  liniment,  was  beginning  to  regain  his  sense  of 
humour.  His  mother,  worn  out  with  the  sudden 
alarm,  had  retired  to  her  own  room  for  a  nap, 
and  Day,  a  bit  of  sewing  in  her  idle  hands,  sat 
curled  up  in  Rob's  arm-chair,  her  feet  under  her, 
and  her  head  pillowed  comfortably  against  the 
angle  of  one  of  its  wide  arms. 

"I  wonder  where  Janet  is,"  she  said  suddenly. 

Rob  laughed. 

"In  cold  storage,  we  '11  hope." 

Day  rarely  needed  explanations.  Now  her  re- 
sponse came  swiftly. 

"  You  caught  it,  too  ?  " 


IN  QUEBEC  149 


Rob  nodded,  as  he  freed  his  lips  from  a  mouth- 
ful of  blanket. 

"And  the  mischief  of  it  is,"  he  added;  "I 
have  n't  the  ghost  of  an  idea  what  it  was  all 
about." 

Day  shook  her  head  thoughtfully. 

"  Nor  I.  I  suppose  that  is  the  way  with  us 
girls.  Something  goes  wrong  with  us,  and  then 
we  strike  fire  on  the  first  thing  that  comes.  I 
thought  Janet  was  too  quiet  to  be  so  spunky, 
though.  Did  you  have  a  bad  time  of  it  ? " 

Rob  turned  evasive. 

"It  might  have  been  worse,  I  suppose.  How- 
ever, I  had  n't  much  to  judge  by.  As  a  rule, 
Day,  you  don't  make  a  row  about  things. " 

Something  in  his  tone  pleased  her.  Her  eyes 
showed  it,  though  her  answer  was  careless. 

"Possibly  I  don't  care  enough  about  things,  in 
the  first  place." 

"Nor  people  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  It  depends  on  the  person, "  she  made  elusive 
reply. 

For  a  moment,  Rob  lay  staring  up  at  her 
thoughtfully.  She  was  good  to  look  at,  this 
dainty  young  sister  of  his;  and,  for  the  passing 
hour,  an  unwonted  mood  of  gentleness  was  upon 
her.  Even  in  his  exhaustion  of  the  hour  before, 
Rob  had  taken  swift  heed  of  her  little  cry  of  alarm 


150  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

as  she  had  caught  sight  of  him  on  the  threshold, 
of  the  deft  gentleness  with  which  she  had  helped 
him  rid  himself  of  hat  and  coat  and  overshoes. 
Afterwards,  in  the  bustle  of  getting  him  warmed 
and  anointed  with  liniments,  she  had  been  swift 
to  see,  efficient  to  act.  Her  brown  eyes,  mean- 
while, had  been  only  merry ;  and  Rob  had  found 
her  carefree  expression  a  welcome  contrast  to  the 
manifest  alarm  of  his  mother.  The  past  year's 
experience  had  taught  him  to  recognize  the  whole 
gamut  of  feelings  that  centered  in  his  leg.  He  was 
perfectly  convinced  that  the  morning's  adventure 
had  wrought  no  serious  harm.  His  mother, 
though,  refused  to  be  convinced.  She  looked 
worried,  and  talked  about  the  doctor.  Day,  on 
the  other  hand,  did  what  she  could  to  allay  his 
present  aches;  then  she  settled  herself  beside 
him,  prepared  to  talk  over  the  situation  or  re- 
main silent,  as  might  suit  his  mood.  To  Day's 
mind,  Rob  had  never  shown  himself  more  at- 
tractive than  in  the  stoic  fashion  in  which  he 
accepted  both  discomfort  and  dosing,  accepted 
them  and  rose  superior  to  them  in  all  their  igno- 
miny. Her  last  pat  on  the  blanket  had  been 
aimed  straight  down  upon  Rob's  muscular  shoul- 
der, and  she  had  smiled  squarely  into  his  eyes,  as 
she  asked,  — 

"Comfy,  Rob?" 


IN  QUEBEC  151 

Motionless  as  a  cocoon,  he  had  nodded  up  at 
her  gayly. 

"Can't  help  it,  Day,  with  such  a  jolly  little 
nurse.  What  now  ?  " 

"My  work,"  she  said.  "I'll  be  back  in  a 
minute." 

And  Rob  found  himself  counting  the  time,  until 
her  dark  red  frock  reappeared  around  the  corner 
of  the  doorway. 

Both  Rob  and  Day  were  surprised,  when  the 
falling  twilight  drove  Day  out  of  her  chair  to 
turn  on  the  electric  lights,  surprised  again  when 
the  bell  for  dinner  sounded  in  the  hall  below. 
Then  reluctantly  Day  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  '11  bring  yours  up,  myself,"  she  said.  "You 
don't  want  Marie  upsetting  things  all  over  you. 
I  '11  gobble  mine,  and  then  come  up  and  feed 
you  yours." 

"No  hurry,  Day." 

She  made  a  little  grimace  of  disgust. 

"  Remember,  I  have  no  especial  wish  to  sit  long 
at  the  family  board,"  she  reminded  him.  "Janet 
may  throw  a  potato  at  me,  for  anything  I  know  to 
the  contrary." 

Rob  laughed  unfeelingly. 

"  Is  n't  she  over  her  grouch  yet  ?  " 

Day  shrugged  her  shoulders  after  a  fashion 
which  unconsciously  she  had  picked  up  of  late. 
It  was  less  elegant  than  expressive. 


152  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"How  should  I  know  ?  I  've  not  seen  her  since 
just  after  breakfast.  Then  I  went  out  of  the  room 
and  left  her  talking.  For  all  I  know,  she  may  be 
talking  still.  Be  a  good  boy,  and  I  '11  be  back 
soon  with  your  dinner."  And,  with  a  mocking, 
mischievous  gesture,  she  was  gone. 

Ten  minutes  later,  she  came  back,  bringing  the 
tray,  bringing,  too,  exciting  news. 

"Janet 's  not  back  yet,  and  her  mother  is  wor- 
ried to  pieces,"  she  proclaimed. 

Rob  sat  up  in  bed  and  reached  for  his  dressing 
gown. 

"  Steady  with  the  tray !  "  he  protested.  "  I 
don't  care  to  have  my  fish  swim  off  on  a  wave 
of  soup.  Where  has  Janet  gone  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows.  She  just  has  n't  come.  That 's 
the  trouble." 

Rob  whistled. 

"That 's  bad.  What  do  they  think  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  he  asked. 

Day  balanced  the  tray  on  his  knees,  then  settled 
herself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"They  don't  think,"  she  said  shortly.  "They 
have  lost  their  heads  utterly  and  their  brains 
have  turned  into  cotton  wool.  Mrs.  Leslie  is 
sure  she  is  snowed  up  in  the  street;  but  I  don't 
worry  about  thai  She  'd  thaw  herself  out,  unless 
she  has  cooled  off  a  good  deal  since  morning." 


IN  QUEBEC  153 


"  Where  is  Ronald  ?  " 

"Tearing  about  like  a  hen  with  its  head  cut 
off.  You  'd  think  Janet  was  a  year-old  baby,  by 
the  way  he  goes  on.  For  goodness'  sake,  Rob,  if 
I  ever  do  get  lost,  do  try  to  conduct  yourself  like 
a  sane  being. " 

Rob  waved  his  soup  spoon  at  her. 

"If  you  ever  do  get  lost,  young  woman,  I'll 
look  for  you  at  the  nearest  spot  where  they  sell 
ice  cream  soda,"  he  responded. 

"You  '11  have  to  go  a  good  long  way  to  do  it," 
she  retorted,  as  she  took  possession  of  his  empty 
plate.  "Up  here,  these  people  do  nothing  but 
guzzle  tea.  But  how  did  you  happen  to  mention 
ice  cream  soda  ?  That  was  the  rock  we  split  on, 
this  morning." 

Rob  picked  up  his  knife  and  fork. 

"I  might  have  known,"  he  murmured. 

"Don't  laugh.  You  know  you  like  it,  your- 
self. But  you  should  see  Ronald.  He  has  been 
telephoning  all  over  town,  from  the  Hotel  Dieu 
to  the  jail.  In  the  intervals  of  his  telephoning, 
he  rushes  to  the  front  door  and  stares  up  and 
down  the  street.  The  house  is  as  cold  as  a 
barn.  I  do  believe  here  's  Ronald  now,"  she 
added,  as  a  short,  sharp  knock  sounded  upon 
the  door. 

Ronald    entered    abruptly,    abruptly    cast    his 


154  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

question  at  the  comfortable-looking  pair  on  the 
bed. 

"  Have, either  of  you  seen  Janet  ?  " 

"Not  since  morning.  Rob  is  better,  thank 
you,"  Day  responded  calmly. 

Ronald,  in  all  his  alarm,  looked  puzzled. 

"  Of  course.     Why  not  ?  " 

"Nothing;  only  I  thought  perhaps  you  had  for- 
gotten to  ask,"  Day  made  demure  response. 

"Shut  up,  Day!"  Rob  said  good-naturedly. 
"  Can't  you  see  that  Ronald  has  n't  any  time  to 
fuss  with  us  ?  " 

Ronald  gave  a  quick,  excited  nod. 

"Not  with  Janet  missing.  When  did  you  say 
you  saw  her  ?  " 

"This  morning." 

"When?" 

"In  the  dining-room,  after  breakfast."  Day 
slid  off  the  edge  of  the  bed  and  went  to  get  the 
plate  of  fruit  she  had  left  on  the  table. 

"  That 's  no  use.  My  mother  saw  her  after  that. 
She  was  just  putting  on  her  hat  in  the  hall." 

"I  saw  her  in  the  library,"  Rob  suggested. 

"When?" 

"  About  eleven. " 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  so  sooner  ?  "  Ronald  in- 
quired, with  a  crisp  ungraciousness  of  which  he 
was  wholly  unaware. 


IN  QUEBEC  155 


"  Because  I  had  no  idea  that  counted. " 

"  Of  course  it  counted.  You  knew  she  had  n't 
been  home  since  then." 

Rob  was  in  the  peaceable  mood  which  follows 
a  good  dinner.  Nevertheless,  he  resented  being 
assaulted  and  battered  by  Ronald's  tongue.  A 
bunch  of  grapes  dangling  in  his  hand,  he  leaned 
back  at  his  ease  and  made  careless  answer,  — 

"No;  I  can't  say  I  did.  You  see,  I  got  busy 
on  my  own  account,  and  did  n't  keep  track  of 
Janet's  doings." 

Ronald  walked  to  the  window  and  stared  out 
into  the  street,  then  walked  back  again.  His 
code  of  honour  forbade  his  taking  vengeance  on 
a  fellow  in  bed.  Nevertheless,  he  would  have 
relished  the  idea  of  pitching  Rob,  bed  and  all, 
out  into  the  snowy  streets. 

"  She  was  at  the  library  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Came  away  before  you  did  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  saw  her  go  ? " 

Rob  gave  an  irrepressible  chuckle. 

"I  heard  her  bang  the  door  behind  her." 

The  dark  red  flush  mounted  across  Ronald's 
face  and  dyed  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  con- 
trolled himself,  however. 

"  How  soon  did  you  follow  her  ?  " 


156  JANET:    HER    WINTER 

"  As  soon  as  I  could  get  my  coat  on. " 

"  Which  way  did  her  tracks  turn  ?  " 

Rob  pondered,  for  a  moment. 

"I  don't  remember  seeing  any  tracks." 

"  You  must  have  seen  them. " 

"  N  —  no.  Hold  on,  though  ! "  Rob  straightened 
up  abruptly.  "  I  do  remember  noticing  that  the 
snow  on  the  steps  made  a  straight,  smooth  slant 
down  to  the  walk.  It  would  n't  have  done  that, 
if  there  had  been  any  tracks  in  —  " 

But  already  Ronald  was  half  way  across  the  floor. 

"Confound  you  for  not  saying  it  sooner!"  he 
said  curtly.  "Then  of  course  she's  in  the 
building." 

"Why?" 

Ronald  halted  on  the  threshold. 

"  Because  she  had  n't  come  out." 

"Not  then.     She  may  have  come  later,  though." 

"Sloane  went  in  at  twelve.  There  was  only 
one  trail  out,  at  that  time.  We  supposed  it 
was  Janet's.  If  you  had  only  spoken  earlier, 
you  might  have  saved  us  all  this  trouble." 

Rob,  the  grapes  still  dangling  from  his  fingers, 
listened  until  the  sound  of  Ronald's  steps  died 
away  into  silence.  Then  he  settled  himself  at 
his  ease. 

"Well,"  he  observed.  "I  do  like  pretty 
manners. " 


IN  QUEBEC  157 


"I  like  the  way  he  jumps  to  conclusions,"  Day 
responded.  "  He  's  like  a  mad  bull,  when  he 
thinks  there's  something  wrong  with  Janet." 

"Poor  little  soul!  It  would  be  hard  lines,  if 
she  'd  been  shut  up  somewhere  in  that  building, 
a  day  like  this.  I  can't  see  why  Sloane  did  n't 
find  her." 

"No  matter.  It  will  give  her  time  to  think  of 
her  sins,"  Day  said  tartly. 

Rob  shook  his  head. 

"Rather  more  than  she  needs.  Janet  isn't 
usually  a  vixen."  Then  his  compassion  changed 
to  mirth,  as  he  added,  "  Ronald's  progress  will  be 
easy,  for  he  will  set  the  snow  on  fire  before  him, 
if  he  dashes  through  it  as  he  went  downstairs. " 

Ronald,  meanwhile,  was  making  all  speed  to 
the  library.  Logic  or  no  logic,  Rob's  words 
had  convinced  him  that  Janet  was  somewhere 
shut  up  in  the  building.  The  impression  grew 
upon  him,  as  he  floundered  through  the  half- 
cleared  streets,  mounted  the  steps  and  hailed 
the  janitor  whom  he  had  telephoned  to  meet 
him. 

"  It 's  I,  Leslie.  For  heaven's  sake,  open  the 
door!" 

The  heavy  door  swung  open  with  a  clang.  The 
clang  was  answered  by  a  shrill  hail. 

"  Come !     Come  quick  and  let  me  out ! " 


158  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"Janet!"  Ronald's  voice  went  up  an  octave. 
"  Where  are  you  ?  " 

A  thudding  of  fists  on  a  door  beneath  the  stairs 
showed  him  the  direction  he  should  take,  showed 
him,  too,  that  Janet's  imprisonment  had  in  no 
sense  told  upon  her  strength. 

"Ronald  I  It's  you  I  I  'm  in  the  coalbin  beside 
the  furnace.  Let  me  out,  quick !  It 's  so  dark, 
and  I'm  so  hungry."  And,  as  the  door  opened, 
she  sprang  out  to  his  encircling  arms. 

"  How  in  the  world  —  ?  " 

And  Janet  told  him,  told  him  with  a  prolixity 
of  detail  which  completely  concealed  the  main 
cause  of  her  retirement,  while  she  nestled  in  his 
strong  arms  and  rubbed  her  crocky  cheek  against 
his  own. 

A  long  hour  later,  Ronald  mounted  the  stairs 
at  home.  His  anxiety  at  rest,  his  conscience  be- 
came uncomfortably  alert,  and  his  conscience  was 
sending  him  in  search  of  Rob.  To  his  disappoint- 
ment, Rob's  door  was  closed.  Across  the  hall, 
Day's  door  stood  open,  and  Day  sat  reading  just 
inside  the  door.  She  looked  up,  as  Ronald's  step 
sounded  on  the  stairs,  and  her  face  was  severe. 

"  Is  Rob  —  "     Ronald  began  hesitatingly. 

"  Rob  has  gone  to  bed. " 

"  Is  he  asleep  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so.     He  was  very  tired  and  a  good  deal 


IN  QUEBEC  159 


worried.  I  hope  he  won't  be  disturbed,"  Day  said 
sedately. 

"Hang  it,  Day;  don't  be  so  hard  on  a  fellow!  " 
Ronald  blurted  out.  "  I  know  I  was  beastly  rude 
to  Rob;  but  I  was  half-wild  about  Janet,  and 
didn't  mind  what  I  was  saying." 

And  Day  made  serene  reply,  — 

"Of  course.  We  were  worried  about  Rob,  too, 
out  in  all  that  storm.  But  let  *s  hope  the  poor 
fellow  is  asleep.  Perhaps  we  'd  better  not  stand 
here,  talking.  Good  night."  And  she  closed 
her  door  with  every  manifestation  of  anxious 
care. 

Meanwhile,  the  "poor  fellow,"  prostrate  upon 
his  pillow,  was  chuckling  with  ill-suppressed 
glee. 

"  Poor  old  Ronald !  "  he  said  to  his  enfolding 
blanket.  "  He  's  getting  his  punishment  now. 
There  was  no  sense  in  his  kicking  up  such  an 
unmannerly  sort  of  row,  and  1  don't  know  as  I 
blame  Day  for  taking  it  out  of  him  a  little. 
Still,  she  'd  best  leave  a  few  pieces  for  Janet  to 
pick  up  and  put  together.  After  all,  the  fellow 
Ms  n't  all  bad."  And,  his  mental  amendments 
made,  he  turned  over  on  the  other  side  and 
drifted  off  into  dreamland. 


160  JANET:  HER    WINTER 


CHAPTER  TEN 

A  TEMPEST  in  a  teapot  is  a  small  thing, 
unless  it  ends  with  the  teapot's  boiling 
over  and  putting  out  the  fire.  In  the  case  of 
the  newly-kindled  friendship  between  the  young 
Leslies  and  the  young  Argyles,  this  narrowly 
escaped  occurring.  Civil  war  within  the  meagre 
limits  of  a  single  house  is  an  impossible  state  of 
things;  yet,  in  the  days  which  followed  the  two 
storms,  Janet's  and  that  of  the  elements,  the 
Leslie  house  achieved  the  impossible.  In  a  sense, 
circumstances  helped  on  the  achievement. 

On  the  night  following  the  storm,  the  four 
young  people  went  to  bed  in  four  wholly  dis- 
tinct moods.  Janet  was  ill  at  ease,  anxious 
about  Rob,  sturdily  determined  to  brave  it  out 
and  conceal  both  emotions.  Ronald  was  peni- 
tent; Day  was  impenitent,  and  Rob  was  filled 
with  an  amused  disgust  with  the  whole  situa- 
tion. Had  the  four  of  them  met  at  breakfast, 
the  air  would  have  cleared.  Janet,  however, 
was  in  her  room  with  a  most  prosaic  cold  in 


IN  QUEBEC  161 


her  head.  Day  overslept  herself,  and  Rob  was 
under  bonds  to  lie  still.  As  result,  Ronald  break- 
fasted alone  with  his  mother.  Then,  when  he 
went  up  to  see  how  Janet  was  feeling,  his  step 
lagged  a  bit,  outside  of  Rob's  door.  There  was 
no  answering  stir  from  within  the  room,  however, 
and  he  went  on  up  the  stairs.  By  dinner  time, 
the  frost  lay  thick  on  the  surface  of  the  talk. 

For  four  whole  days,  Rob  was  invisible.  It 
was  the  result  of  a  compromise  with  his  mother 
whereby,  if  she  would  forego  a  doctor,  he  would 
agree  to  captivity  and  the  pungent  aroma  of  lini- 
ment. He  rebelled  the  less  at  his  captivity, 
because  walking  was  a  painful  operation  just  at 
present,  and  because  Day's  accounts  of  the  glacial 
atmosphere  below  stairs  failed  to  attract  him,  to 
the  point  of  making  him  repine  at  the  thought  of 
being  out  of  it  all. 

In  the  meantime,  he  and  Day  were  fast  becom- 
ing the  best  possible  chums.  Day,  on  her  dignity 
by  reason  of  Janet's  outbreak  and  Ronald's  curt 
rudeness  to  her  brother,  had  taken  council  with 
her  girlish  mind  and  decided  that  the  blame  was 
entirely  theirs;  that,  moreover,  the  best  way  to 
bring  them  to  terms  was  to  signify  that  her  own 
good  times  were  complete  without  them.  Ac- 
cordingly, she  took  care  to  see  them  only  at 

their  meals.     Much   of  the    remaining  time  she 

11 


1G2  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

spent  with  Rob,  moved  thereto  less  by  devotion 
to  Rob  than  by  the  desire  to  emphasize  the  dif- 
ference in  her  attitude  to  the  different  members 
of  the  household.  When  she  did  meet  them,  she 
was  perfectly  polite,  but  in  a  frigid  fashion  that 
was  far  more  cutting  than  open  discourtesy.  In 
return,  Janet  sniffed  and  said  she  did  n't  care. 
Ronald,  however,  took  it  more  seriously.  He  had 
grown  genuinely  fond  of  Day,  and  he  missed  her 
hearty,  happy  comradeship  far  more  than  he  liked 
to  confess. 

A  good  deal  of  this  complex  mingling  of  tem- 
pers drifted  up  into  Rob's  room.  He  laughed  at 
Day's  shrewd  comments  upon  the  existing  order 
of  things;  but,  at  the  back  of  his  brain,  he  was 
decidedly  of  the  impression  that  all  four  of  them 
deserved  to  be  spanked  and  put  to  bed  without 
their  suppers.  Such  a  wholesale  family  jar  was 
neither  dignified  nor  decorous.  Volcanic  in  its 
origin,  it  was  reaching  a  point  where  nothing 
short  of  an  earthquake  could  break  it  up,  and 
Rob  hated  earthquakes.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
he  had  had  no  glimpse  of  Janet.  Ronald,  on  two 
occasions,  had  stopped  at  his  door  with  a  wholly 
dutiful  inquiry  for  his  health.  Rob's  answer  had 
been  soft ;  but  it  had  been  coupled  with  a  strong 
desire  to  throw  a  footrest  at  Ronald  and  observe 
the  way  he  took  it. 


IN  QUEBEC  163 


"  Confound  him !  He  need  n't  put  on  his  funeral 
voice,  when  he  talks  to  me,"  he  had  exploded  to 
Day,  on  the  second  of  these  occasions.  "  I  'm 
mentally  sound,  if  I  can't  do  things.  I  wish 
he  'd  oil  his  boots  and  get  the  squeak  out  of 
them,  before  he  comes  again." 

In  regard  to  Day's  sudden  access  of  devotion, 
Rob  had  no  hallucinations.  He  knew  that  her 
motives  were  not  unmixed.  Nevertheless,  he  was 
resolved  to  take  his  good  times  when  he  could  get 
them,  and  ask  no  questions.  And  they  were  good 
times,  too.  More  and  more  Rob  was  learning  to 
delight  in  his  young  sister.  He  liked  her  bright 
self-reliance,  her  fun,  her  shrewd  young  judgment; 
he  liked  her  swift,  sure  motions ;  he  liked  her  pretty 
clothes.  All  these  details  attracted  him  and  won 
his  full  approval.  But  when,  now  and  then,  one 
of  her  rare,  sweet  moods  of  gentleness  was  upon 
her,  the  liking  yielded  its  place  to  a  whole-souled 
love  such  as  only  a  healthy-minded  boy  can  give. 
As  a  rule,  Day  perched  herself  in  the  deep  win- 
dowseat  and  chattered  nonsense  by  the  yard.  Now 
and  then,  though,  usually  while  the  twilight  was 
darkening  over  the  room,  she  left  her  windowseat 
and  came  to  sit  on  the  floor  at  his  side,  her  head 
nestled  against  the  chair  and  one  slim  arm  rest- 
ing across  his  knee.  Arid  Rob,  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  cuddled  it  a  bit  now  and  then,  while 


164  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

the  talk  rambled  on  fitfully,  or  dropped  into  fitful 
silence.  It  was  always  an  unwelcome  break,  when 
Marie  came  in  with  the  tray. 

At  first,  they  had  talked  only  of  the  present,  of 
the  things  they  had  already  done,  or  still  were 
planning  to  do,  that  winter.  Then  by  degrees 
the  talk  went  trailing  back  into  the  past  when 
Rob  was  delighted  to  find  Day's  memory  as  good 
as  his  own  for  all  the  trifling  details  of  their 
childhood.  Or  it  wandered  on  into  the  future, 
and  they  surprised  themselves  and  each  other  when 
they  found  how  far  the  plans  of  each  were  chang- 
ing to  include  the  other.  And  then,  just  before 
Marie  came  in  on  the  last  night  of  Rob's  captiv- 
ity, some  sudden  mood  led  Rob  to  speak  of  the 
way,  all  the  previous  winter  and  spring,  he  had 
been  conscious  of  missing  the  real  Day  out  of  his 
life.  And  Day's  only  answer  had  been  the  lay- 
ing her  cheek  upon  her  arm  as  it  rested  in  its 
usual  place  across  Rob's  knee.  They  both  had 
blinked  a  little,  when  Marie,  without  warning, 
had  switched  on  the  electric  light. 

Once  Rob  was  downstairs  again,  the  situation 
showed  no  signs  of  mending.  For  no  assignable 
cause,  Ronald  had  clambered  up  on  his  dignity 
and  had  hoisted  up  Janet  with  him.  Rob  was 
swift  to  sec  how  insecurely  they  were  poised, 
and  on  what  a  tottering  foundation;  and  he  lost 


IN  QUEBEC  165 


no  opportunity  to  upset  their  balance.  It  was 
impossible  to  resent  the  bland  good  humour  of 
his  conversation  which  showed  an  astounding 
agility  in  skating  out  upon  thin  ice,  and  then 
dodging  backwards,  just  as  the  ice  began  to  crack. 

"Mrs.  Leslie,  what  are  we  going  to  do  with 
those  bad  children  of  ours  ?  "  Mrs.  Argyle  made 
direct  question,  one  night. 

Mrs.  Leslie  shook  her  head. 

"I  wish  I  knew,"   she  answered. 

"Do  you  think  we  'd  better  interfere  ?  " 

"Sit  down."  Mrs.  Leslie  pushed  forward  a  hos- 
pitable-looking chair.  "I  really  wish  I  knew," 
she  reiterated  musingly.  "  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

Mrs.  Argyle  took  possession  of  the  chair,  ar- 
ranged herself  at  her  ease,  gave  a  prolonged 
look  at  the  coals  in  the  grate,  then,  turning, 
gave  another  prolonged  look  into  the  face  of  her 
companion. 

"I'm  afraid  of  making  it  worse,"  she  said 
then.  "  Of  course,  for  us  looking  on,  it  could  n't 
be  much  worse ;  but  it  could  be  more  permanent. 
I  don't  want  that.  I  've  watched  your  children 
closely;  I  like  to  have  Rob  and  Day  with  them. 
I  really  think  I  have  felt  worse  than  anyone  else 
about  the  trouble." 

Mrs.  Leslie  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  work  and 
slightly  shook  her  head.  Like  Mrs.  Argyle,  she 


166  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

too  had  been  making  her  own  observations,  the 
past  two  months.  She  liked  the  Argyle  chil- 
dren; more  and  more,  also,  she  liked  the  Argyle 
children's  mother.  Mrs.  Argyle  was  not  by  any 
means  the  wayward,  superficial  society  woman 
that  Mrs.  Leslie  had  judged  her  at  first  sight. 
Living  in  one  house,  the  two  women  had  drifted 
into  no  semblance  of  intimacy.  Nevertheless, 
they  were  conscious  of  a  growing  admiration, 
each  for  the  other. 

"I  suppose,"  Mrs.  Argyle  continued  thought- 
fully ;  "  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do,  would  be  to 
take  the  children  into  another  home.  Still,  I 
dislike  the  idea;  it  seems  too  much  like  running 
away  from  a  difficult  situation.  If  you  feel  that 
you  can  endure  it  a  little  longer,  Mrs.  Leslie,"  as 
she  spoke,  she  looked  up  once  more;  "I  should 
like  to  stay  and  face  the  matter  out." 

Mrs.  Leslie's  needle  had  unthreaded  itself.  It 
was  taking  all  her  attention  to  thread  it  again, 
and  the  droop  of  her  head  concealed  the  conster- 
nation in  her  eyes.  Boarders  were  not  plenty 
in  Quebec  at  that  season ;  and  one's  coal  bill  and 
one's  account  with  the  butcher  must  stand  before 
mere  questions  of  injured  dignity  resulting  from 
childish  tiffs  and  misunderstandings.  Neverthe- 
less, Mrs.  Leslie's  low  voice  was  full  of  dignity, 
as  she  answered,  — 


IN  QUEBEC  167 


"I  should  dislike  to  have  you  go  away,  Mrs. 
Argyle." 

Mrs.  Argyle  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"  I  am  glad.  I  dislike  the  thought  of  a  change," 
she  said  heartily.  "  We  all  like  the  dear  old  house. 
And  I  think  the  children  will  come  to  terms  in 
time.  Anyway,  Rob  has  to  go  back  to  New  York, 
after  the  holidays. " 

"To  stay?" 

"  Only  for  a  week  or  two.  He  was  to  have  gone 
in  February ;  but  this  last  strain  makes  me  a  little 
uneasy,  and  I  'd  rather  he  went  at  once.  We  've 
compromised  on  the  day  after  Christmas.  He  and 
Day  both  wailed  at  the  idea  of  being  parted  on 
that  day." 

"What  good  times  they  have  together!"  Mrs. 
Leslie  said  thoughtfully.  "  They  seem  peculiarly 
intimate." 

"No  more  so  than  Janet  and  Ronald.  But 
about  this  trouble:  I  could  speak  to  the  chil- 
dren, Mrs.  Leslie.  Sometimes,  I  think  I  ought. 
Still,  there  's  nothing  I  can  put  my  finger  on. 
They  are  desperately  polite  to  each  other.  Be- 
sides, there  is  always  the  chance  of  changing 
armed  neutrality  into  open  war.  Rob  has  more 
than  a  dash  of  red  in  his  hair,  and  Day's  temper 
isn't  of  the  most  quiet  sort.  I  really  wish  you 
would  advise  me.  It  is  so  hard  to  act,  when  I 


168  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

have  n't  any  notion  of  the  cause  of  the  fray,  nor 
where  the  first  blame  lies." 

Mrs.  Leslie  looked  up  sharply. 

"  Don't  you  know,  either  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No.     Don't  you?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"Has  n't  Ronald  talked  it  over  with  you  ?  " 

"Not  he.  Ronald  thinks  a  good  deal  more 
than  he  talks." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  so  intimate. " 

"So  we  are.  Still,  in  a  case  like  this,  Ronald 
shuts  his  mouth,  all  the  more  when  Janet  is  in 
it,  too.  But  your  children  ?  " 

"  Have  never  mentioned  it ;  that  is,  to  me.  Of 
course,  I  know  they  talk  it  over  together.  Once 
or  twice,  when  I  've  been  in  the  next  room,  I  have 
caught  just  a  word. " 

"Why  don't  you  ask  them?"  Mrs.  Leslie 
queried. 

For  a  moment,  Mrs.  Arygle  looked  at  her  in 
surprise.  Then  she  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  've  never  been  used  to  teasing  for  the  con- 
fidence of  my  children.  If  I  am  the  mother  I 
ought  to  be,  they  will  tell  me  anything  I  ought 
to  know.  For  the  rest,  they  have  the  same  right 
to  their  secrets  that  I  have  to  mine."  Then,  smil- 
ing, she  rose  and  held  out  her  hand.  "The  truth 
is,  Mrs.  Leslie,  I  suspect  this  matter  is  some- 


IN  QUEBEC  169 

thing  we  are  powerless  to  touch.  If  we  can  hold 
our  peace  and  keep  our  own  heads  level,  time  will 
do  the  rest.  Meanwhile,"  she  laughed  lightly; 
"meanwhile,  the  peace  commission  will  have  to 
adjourn,  until  it  gathers  up  a  few  facts  of  the 
case.  At  least,  it  is  a  comfort  that  you  are  not 
longing  to  turn  my  quarrelsome  children  out  of 
your  house." 

Day,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  finding  the 
past  week  rather  a  drag.  During  Rob's  impris- 
onment, she  had  spent  a  large  share  of  her  time 
with  him.  She  had  enjoyed  him  absolutely,  had 
almost  regretted  the  ending  of  her  monopoly  of 
his  time  and  attention.  Nevertheless,  she  already 
was  feeling  the  effects  of  her  unwonted  lack  of 
out-door  exercise.  Her  girlish  humour  suffered; 
she  was  languid,  and,  now  and  then,  irritable. 
At  the  end  of  a  week  of  sitting  about  the  house, 
however,  her  mother  interfered  and  ordered  her 
out  into  the  snow-crisp  air.  It  was  then  and  for 
the  first  time  that  Day  suddenly  came  to  a  realiz- 
ing sense  of  how  much  she  missed  the  Leslies.  It 
was  too  cold  for  much  driving.  At  best,  Rob's 
walks  were  of  the  briefest;  and  now  they  were 
curtailed  to  the  extent  of  the  width  of  the  side- 
walk. Under  such  circumstances  and  other  con- 
ditions, Day  would  have  thrown  herself  upon  the 
society  of  Janet  and  Ronald.  Under  the  present 


170  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

conditions,  she  was  driven  to  seek  the  alternative 
of  faring  forth  alone. 

After  one  day  when  it  seemed  to  her  that  she 
was  the  only  solitary  person  upon  the  length  of 
the  Grande  Alle"e,  after  a  day  when  only  her  own 
shadow  kept  her  company  upon  the  thronged  and 
sunshiny  terrace,  Day  resolved  to  abandon  those 
two  main  pleasure  grounds  and  betake  herself  to 
the  byroads  where  her  lonesomeness  would  arouse 
less  comment.  Accordingly,  she  formed  the  habit 
of  making  a  daily  tour  of  the  Ramparts,  down 
Palace  Hill  and  up  the  Cote  d'Abraham,  not  from 
any  especial  interest  in  the  antiquity  of  the  route ; 
but  because  it  filled  the  allotted  time  her  mother 
had  ordained  for  her  exercise.  To  Day's  present 
frame  of  mind,  it  mattered  nothing  that  Mont- 
calm's  house  still  stood  upon  the  Ramparts;  that 
the  Cote  d'Abraham  was  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
ordered retreat  of  the  French  Regulars  from  the 
battlefield  outside  the  city  wall.  It  scarcely  mat- 
tered, even,  that  the  distant  Laurentides  stood  up 
and  out,  a  dark  blue  ring  around  the  dazzling, 
snow-heaped  levels  to  the  north  and  west  of  the 
city.  For  the  time  being,  the  girl  was  heartily 
sick  and  tired  of  Quebec  and  of  all  that  it  con- 
tained. She  longed  for  her  own  home  city,  for 
her  own  home  friends,  for  American  food  and  for 
the  American  sense  of  humour.  Her  father's  busi- 


IN  QUEBEC  171 


ness  interests  were  dragging  themselves  out  inter- 
minably ;  and  Mrs.  Argyle,  modern  wife  and  mother 
that  she  was,  yet  held  to  the  old-fashioned  notion 
that,  in  so  far  as  possible,  a  wife  should  keep  in 
touch  with  her  husband.  For  the  sake  of  that 
notion,  she  was  willing  to  put  up  with  a  winter 
in  the  sleepy,  foreign  little  city,  on  the  chance 
that  now  and  then  Mr.  Arygle  might  be  able  to 
spend  a  leisure  day  at  home.  Day,  however,  had 
neither  a  husband  nor  a  notion.  With  all  her 
heart,  she  envied  Rob  his  dreaded  trip  to  New 
York.  Nevertheless  — 

She  shook  herself  and  glanced  out  over  the  dis- 
tant hills.  Nevertheless,  given  her  choice  between 
the  States  and  Rob,  she  would  never  hesitate.  And 
Rob  was  here,  not  in  the  States.  The  only  trouble 
was  that  there  were  no  more  Robs  in  the  world. 

"  Oh,  good  morning.     How  do  you  do  again  ?  " 

Yielding  to  a  sudden  wave  of  despondency,  Day 
had  halted  on  the  bastion  above  Dambourges  Hill, 
and,  her  elbows  on  the  wall  and  her  chin  on  her 
muff,  she  had  stood  long,  staring  out  across  the 
gleaming  flats  beyond.  She  started  abruptly,  as 
there  came  up  to  her  ears  the  unmistakable  voice 
and  accent  of  Sir  George  Porteous. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  demanded,  when  a  hasty 
glance  had  revealed  the  fact  that  both  bastion  and 
hill  were  empty  of  straying  Englishmen. 


172  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"Here."  The  voice  was  minor  and  altogether 
pitiful.  It  appeared  to  be  disembodied,  however. 
It  came  from  beneath ;  but  Day,  craning  her  neck 
over  the  wall,  was  totally  at  a  loss  to  discover  the 
wrinkle-bordered  lips  from  which  that  voice  should 
properly  have  come. 

"Where  is  here  f  "  she  asked  in  amazement. 

"Here.     Where  I  am,  you  know." 

"  Where  is  that  ?  " 

"On  the  steps." 

Hurriedly  Day  crossed  to  the  side  of  the  bastion 
and  looked  down.  Up  the  steep  flight  of  steps  Sir 
George  Porteous  was  toiling  painfully.  His  <>\vn 
steps  were  impeded  by  one  single  snowshoe  which, 
dangling  loosely  by  its  thong,  had  worked  around 
until  it  lay  on  the  top  of  his  foot  where  it  clat- 
tered protestingly  against  the  stairs.  The  other 
snowshoe  was  in  his  hand;  and  his  back  was 
coated  thickly  with  hard-packed  snow,  save  for 
one  point  where  a  mire-encrusted  shoulderblade 
Jjore  witness  to  an  ungentle  meeting  with  the 
sunny  roadway,  a  witness  which  was  corrob- 
orated by  the  unseemly  condition  of  Sir  George's 
stiff  black  hat. 

For  an  instant,  Day  held  her  breath  in  mingled 
terror  and  hilarity.  Step  by  step,  Sir  George 
came  stubbing  towards  her,  his  free  foot  first,  fol- 
lowed by  its  hampered  comrade,  and  the  arrival 


IN  QUEBEC  173 


of  the  second  foot  upon  each  stair  was  accom- 
panied by  a  look  of  anxious  doubt,  a  tentative 
shifting  of  weight,  a  sinking  to  the  level  and  a 
deep  sigh  of  satisfaction.  At  length,  Day  gained 
control  of  her  voice. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  off  your  shoe  ?  "  she  called 
down,  over  the  edge  of  the  wall. 

"  I  did  n't  need.     It  came. " 

"Yes.     But  the  other  ?" 

"  The  fellow  tied  it  on  too  tight "  And,  lifting 
his  foot,  shoe  and  all,  Sir  George  clung  to  the  rail 
and  gave  a  skittish  little  kick,  in  support  of  his 
statement.  According  to  the  unreliable  custom  of 
its  kind,  the  snowshoe  came  off  and  went  bounc- 
ing and  thudding  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  steps. 
Sir  George,  still  on  one  leg  and  clasping  the  rail 
with  both  scarlet-mittened  hands,  peered  after  it 
ruefully.  "  Oh,  by  George ! "  he  said.  Then,  as 
it  came  to  rest  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
he  lifted  up  his  voice.  "  Oh,  down  there !  Oh, 
some  fellow,  please  bring  me  my  shoe!"  And, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  the  hill  was  empty, 
he  sat  himself  down  on  the  step  and  prepared  to 
await  the  return  of  his  missing  property. 

"  Why  don't  you  sit  on  the  other  shoe  ?  "  Day 
suggested  from  above. 

Without  stirring  otherwise,  Sir  George  screwed 
his  head  about,  until  he  faced  her. 


174  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  Oh,  I  won't  let  that  get  away.  I  am  holding 
it  quite  fast. " 

"Yes;  but  the  steps  are  so  cold,"  she  urged. 

"  Of  course.  It 's  the  snow,  you  know.  But  the 
snowshoe  leaks, "  he  explained  lucidly.  "  Have  you 
been  away,  since  I  saw  you  last  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Strange  that  I  have  n't  seen  you.  You 
always  used  to  be  about.  Have  you  learned  to 
walk  on  snowshoes  ?  " 

"Not  yet.  You  must  be  very  skilful,  to  attempt 
such  a  hill  as  this,"  Day  said  politely. 

"Oh,  I  found  it  was  the  only  way,  you  know. 
The  man  in  the  shop  told  me  I  'd  best  go  out 
to  the  Cove  Fields ;  but  I  could  n't  seem  to  make 
them  walk  on  a  level,  so  I  hunted  out  the  steep- 
est spot  I  could  find.  I  thought  they  'd  go  all 
right,  once  they  were  started." 

"I  see."  Again  Day's  mirth  threatened  to 
overwhelm  her.  "And  did  they?" 

"They  went  all  right.  The  only  trouble  was, 
they  would  n't  stop  going,  when  I  wanted.  Took 
the  bits  and  bolted,  you  know.  When  they  did 
stop,  one  had  come  quite  off."  And  Sir  George 
made  an  effort  to  rub  his  shoulderblade  remi- 
niscently.  Then  he  added,  "I  think  the  fellow 
could  n't  have  known  just  how  to  tie  them  on." 

"What  fellow?" 


IN  QUEBEC  175 


Sir  George  stared  up  at  her  blankly. 

"  I  'm  not  sure.  He  did  n't  tell  me  his  name. 
The  fellow  at  the  top  of  the  steps." 

"  Oh,  I  understand.  You  mean  that  somebody, 
some  stranger,  helped  you  put  them  on  ?  " 

"  Yes.  How  else  ?  I  could  n't  make  them  walk 
all  the  way  out  from  the  hotel,"  Sir  George  ex- 
plained testily. 

Day  gave  him  a  comprehensive  glance  which 
included  both  his  injured  hat  and  his  damaged 
shoulderblade. 

"No;  I  should  imagine  not,"  she  assented. 

Sir  George  cast  an  uneasy  eye  down  the  hill. 

"I  wonder  how  I'll  get  my  shoe,"  he  said 
helplessly. 

"Go  down  and  get  it."  Day's  tone  was  un- 
sympathetic. 

"  But  I  've  only  just  come  up.  I  was  down 
there,  when  I  saw  you  first.  I  didn't  like  to 
call  out,  though,  even  when  I  knew  it  was  you. 
I  was  afraid  you  'd  jump  and  fall,  you  know. " 

"Thank  you."  Day  measured  the  height  of  the 
four-foot  wall  with  her  eye.  Then  she  buried 
her  face  in  her  muff.  "Excuse  me.  I  was  just 
warming  my  nose,"  she  said  discursively  at 
length. 

"How  rummy!  Don't  you  think  my  mittens 
would  be  just  as  good  ?  " 


176  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"To  warm  my  nose  ?  "  Day  queried  blankly,  for 
Sir  George's  meaning  was  opaque  to  her. 

"  No ;  for  mine.  It 's  very  cold.  In  fact,  you 
know,  it 's  very  cold  to  be  sitting  here."  Sir 
George  chafed  the  tip  of  his  blue  nose  with  one 
scarlet  mitten  and  then  the  other.  "I  bought 
them  at  Renfrew's,  when  I  got  my  shoes,"  he 
added,  with  seeming  irrelevance.  Then  he  fell 
to  massaging  his  nose  again. 

For  a  long  moment,  Day  once  more  sought  the 
shelter  of  her  muff.  Sir  George's  voice  recalled 
her. 

"I  say?" 

"Well?" 

"Oh,  I  say,  I  've  just  come  up  this  hill.  It's 
a  real  brute  of  a  hill,  and  it 's  quite  knocked  me 
out.  You  're  quite  fresh ;  are  n't  you  ?  " 

"Quite,"  Day  assented,  for,  as  yet,  she  had  no 
notion  whither  Sir  George's  fertile  brain  was 
leading. 

"  That 's  what  I  thought.  You  look  it,  you 
know.  And  I  'm  so  very  tired.  Would  you 
mind  just  stepping  down  and  bringing  me  my 
shoe  ?  " 

And  Day  went.  She  would  have  gone  ten 
times  that  distance,  for  the  sake  of  carrying 
home  to  Rob  the  story  of  her  going.  Sir  George 
watched  her  tranquilly  as  she  went  slipping  and 


IN  QUEBEC  177 


sliding  down  the  steep  slope,  crawling  and  clam- 
bering up  again.  Breathless  and  with  the  shoe  in 
her  hand,  she  reached  his  side.  Smiling  and  with 
his  battered  hat  in  his  hand,  he  rose  to  greet  her. 
"Thank  you  so  much,"  he  said  affably,  as  he 
held  out  his  unoccupied  mitten  for  his  missing 
footgear.  "  I  'm  sure  you  are  very  kind.  When 
you  get  your  own  shoes,  let  me  know  about  it, 
and  we  '11  go  out  for  some  walks  together.  You  'd 
find  it  much  safer,  you  know,  than  starting  out  to 
walk  alone."  And,  settling  his  hat  on  his  head 
with  an  anxious  care  for  its  balance,  he  clasped 
a  shoe  under  either  arm  and  started  up  the 
steps,  leaving  Day  to  follow  or  not,  as  she 
might  choose. 


n 


178  JANET:   HER    WINTKH 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

"  TT  THERE  now,  Ronald  ?  " 

V  V  Ronald,  in  dinner  coat  and  spotless 
tie,  had  halted  before  his  mirror  for  one  last 
brushing  of  his  thick,  dark  hair.  His  door 
stood  ajar,  and  Janet's  face  was  in  the  crack. 
At  her  question,  he  sent  her  a  welcoming  smile 
by  way  of  the  glass. 

"  It 's  the  office  dinner,  to-night,  you  know. " 

Also  by  way  of  the  glass,  Janet  sent  him  a  wry 
face.  Then  she  accepted  the  welcome  and,  push- 
ing open  the  door,  entered  the  room. 

"  How  can  you  go  to  that  thing  ?  "  she  asked 
disdainfully. 

"How  can  I  help  it  ?" 

"Stay  at  home.  There  will  be  all  sorts  of 
stupid  people  there,"  she  said,  as  she  crossed 
the  room  and  stood  staring  into  the  mirror  with 
obvious  satisfaction  in  the  rich,  dark  beauty  of 
the  pictured  face. 

"I  can't  well  get  out  of  going.  The  chief 
wouldn't  like  it." 


IN  QUEBEC  179 


"Why  not?" 

"  He  counts  a  lot  on  this  annual  dinner  of  his. 
Says  it  makes  us  better  acquainted. " 

"But  you  don't  want  to  get  better  acquainted," 
Janet  said  sagaciously. 

"No;  I  can't  say  I  do,"  Ronald  made  honest 
confession.  "I  like  to  pick  my  own  friends. 
Still,  one  can't  stand  out  on  a  matter  like  this. " 

"I  don't  see  why." 

"  Because,  next  time,  I  'd  be  left  to  sit  it  out 
alone,  either  in  the  office,  or  outside."  Ronald 
laid  down  his  brushes  and  gave  one  final  tweak 
to  his  tie.  "Besides,"  he  added  then;  "one  or 
two  of  the  fellows  are  n't  so  bad ;  and,  if  it  comes 
to  that,  there  are  stupid  people  here." 

Swiftly  Janet  made  a  face  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"  Even  in  this  house  ? "  she  queried,  in  a 
whisper. 

Ronald  laughed.  Then  he  nodded.  However, 
Janet  promptly  disagreed  with  the  ground  that 
she  herself  had  taken. 

"And  they  aren't  stupid,  either,  only  pesky," 
she  said  thoughtfully.  "  Yes,  brother,  I  mean  just 
pesky.  It 's  not  slang,  only  a  dowdy  old  word  that 
most  people  are  too  fashionable  to  use ;  but  it  fits 
some  people  to  a  T."  Resting  one  elbow  on  the 
dressing-table,  she  arranged  the  ebony-backed 
brushes  to  her  liking,  rubbed  her  finger  across 


180  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

and  across  their  intricate  monograms,  and  then 
glanced  up  once  more.  "I  wonder  which  is 
worse :  to  be  just  pesky,  or  downright  bad  ? " 
she  added.  "  For  my  part,  I  'd  rather  get  on 
with  the  bad  ones.  You  can  generally  tell  what 
they  will  do  next;  but  Rob  and  Day  —  " 

Silently  Ronald  pointed  to  the  opposite  wall. 
Janet's  voice  was  rising  to  the  danger  limit. 

"People  catch  their  own  names,  when  they 
can't  hear  anything  else,"  he  explained.  "I 
really  don't  think  Day  is  in  her  room,  though." 

But  Janet  had  cast  herself  down  on  the  bed. 

"Oh,  I  do  want  to  see  Sidney,"  she  said.  " She 
always  made  things  go  right. " 

Turning  his  back  to  the  mirror,  Ronald  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  low  dressing  table  and 
fell  to  swinging  one  foot  to  and  fro. 

."The  thing  I  can't  understand,  is  what  set 
them  going  wrong  in  the  first  place,"  he  said 
meditatively. 

Janet  cast  one  swift,  shrewd  glance  up  at  him ; 
then  she  lowered  her  eyes.  Until  that  moment, 
she  had  supposed  that  Ronald  was  in  possession  of 
all  the  facts,  that  his  loyalty  to  her  arose  from  ap- 
proval, not  from  ignorance.  Again  and  again 
the  two  Leslies  had  discussed  the  hostility  of 
the  two  Argyles,  but  in  such  general  terms  that 
never  once  had  it  dawned  upon  Janet  that  her 


IN   QUEBEC  181 

brother  might  be  lacking  the  clue  to  the  entire 
situation.  Granted  that  he  held  it,  no  need  to 
discuss  it.  Penitential  thoughts  came  easily  to 
Janet;  not  so,  penitential  words.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  doubtful  whether,  loving  and  trusting  Ronald 
absolutely,  she  could  so  long  have  kept  him  in 
ignorance  of  her  leading  share  in  the  general 
catastrophe,  had  she  not  taken  it  for  granted 
that  he  was  already  in  possession  of  it  in  all 
its  details.  From  certain  utterances  of  Ronald, 
she  had  gathered  the  fact  that  sparks  had  flown 
freely  between  himself  and  the  Argyles,  just  be- 
fore he  had  dashed  out  to  her  rescue.  Quite  as 
a  matter  of  course,  Janet  had  assumed  that  Day 
had  spoken  to  her  discredit  and  that  Ronald  had 
resented  Day's  tale.  Under  such  conditions,  it 
was  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at  that  Janet,  know- 
ing the  real  truth  of  any  charges  Day  might  bring, 
should  prefer  to  maintain  a  sturdy  reticence  re- 
garding them.  Discussion  would  lead  to  an 
inevitable  acknowledgment  that  she  was  inde- 
fensibly in  the  wrong. 

"  Then  you  really  don't  know  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  she  asked  slowly. 

And  Ronald  made  despairing  answer,  — 

"No;  I'm  blest  if  I  do." 

For  an  instant,  Janet  started  to  speak.  Then, 
as  her  eyes  fell  to  the  little  watch  that  dangled 


182  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

from  its  pin,  she  checked  the  impulse.  Inside  of 
ten  minutes,  Ronald  must  leave  the  house;  and 
her  own  accountability  for  the  present  state  of 
war  could  never,  she  felt,  be  properly  discussed 
within  the  narrow  limits  of  ten  minutes.  In- 
stead, — 

"Do  you  care  ?  "  she  asked  flippantly. 

"Yes,"  Ronald  said  honestly;  "I  do  care  a  long 
way  more  than  I  like  to  own." 

Janet  gave  a  sniff  of  unalloyed  hostility. 

"I  don't,"  she  said  mendaciously. 

"I  miss  them;  at  least,  I  miss  Day,"  Ronald 
said  slowly,  and,  as  he  spoke,  his  face  clouded. 

"  I  don't, "  Janet  repeated. 

In  spite  of  his  trouble,  Ronald  smiled. 

"  Nor  Rob  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Not  when  I  have  you, "  she  retorted. 

"But  you  used  to  have  us  both." 

"  Not  so  much  as  you  might  think.  There  was 
always  Day,  you  see. " 

"  I  don't  see  what  she  had  to  do  with  it " 

"  Oh !  "  Janet's  tone  was  conclusive.  "  You 
don't." 

And  there  came  an  interval  of  silence.  Ronald 
broke  it 

"Anyway,  I  wish  it  would  end.  I  hate  this 
sort  of  thing,  and  I  *d  give  a  good  deal  to  know 
what  it  really  was  that  started  it." 


IN   QUEBEC  183 


"Ask  them,"  Janet  suggested,  her  eyes  on  the 
loosening  edge  of  her  shoe-sole. 

"I  did." 

"  What  did  they  say  ?  " 

"Nothing.  It  was  Rob,  and  he  just  laughed 
and  said,  'Speaking  of  rats,  I  believe  I  left  my 
book  upstairs. ' ' 

Janet  pondered. 

"  What  in  the  world  did  he  mean  ?  "  she  said  at 
last,  unable  to  read  any  sinister  statement  into 
the  words. 

"You  '11  have  to  ask  him.  Then  he  picked  up 
his  stick  and  himself,  and  went  off  and  left  me 
sitting  there." 

In  spite  of  herself,  Janet's  sigh  of  relief  was 
audible.  Then,  as  Ronald  arose  and  began  look- 
ing about  for  his  hat,  she  asked  abruptly,  — 

"  When  have  you  heard  from  Sidney  ?  " 

"Tuesday.     Why?" 

"  Nothing. "  Janet  rose  in  her  turn,  for  it  was 
obvious  that  the  discussion  must  end.  "I  only 
wish  she  were  here  to  bully  her  compatriots  into 
behaving  themselves." 

Nevertheless,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs  to  her 
own  room,  Janet  Leslie  was  uncomfortably  con- 
scious that  it  was  someone  besides  the  Argyles 
who  needed  to  be  bullied  into  good  behaviour. 
Blame  lay  on  both  sides;  to  one  side  alone  be- 


184  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

longed  the  honour,  or  the  dishonour,  of  being  the 
first  cause  of  blame,  and  Janet,  in  her  saner  mo- 
ments, admitted  to  herself  that  she  was  it.  Worst 
of  all,  up  to  the  present  hour,  she  had  supposed 
that  everybody  in  the  house  was  aware  of  her 
position,  and  half  of  her  defiant  disregard  of 
consequences  had  had  its  source  in  that  belief. 
Now  that,  for  no  cause  whatsoever,  she  had  as- 
sumed this  attitude  of  brazen  indifference,  she 
found  it  hard  to  see  how  she  could  return  to 
the  paths  of  meekness,  and  yet  sacrifice  no  whit 
of  her  dignity.  Some  day,  she  would  talk  it  over 
with  Ronald,  perhaps  confess  the  truth,  perhaps 
even  ask  his  advice,  although  she  knew  in  ad- 
vance what  form  that  advice  would  take.  As 
for  Rob  —  She  shrugged  her  thin  little  shoul- 
ders. His  opinions  did  not  count.  He  was  an 
American  and  rude  withal,  critical  and  rude. 
She  would  be  glad  when  the  time  came  for  his 
return  to  New  York. 

Descending  the  stairs,  a  half-hour  later,  Janet 
met  Rob  at  the  top  of  the  lower  flight.  She 
stepped  back  to  allow  him  to  pass,  moved  less 
by  consideration  for  his  lameness  than  by  a  sud- 
den memory  of  the  old-time  superstition  that  it  is 
ill  luck  to  pass  on  the  stairs.  For  the  moment, 
as  he  saw  her  standing  there,  Rob  forgot  the  feud 
and  hailed  her  jovially,  for  the  intoxication  of  the 


IN  QUEBEC  185 


wintry  air  and  of  the  moonlight  was  upon  him,  and 
other  and  indoor  things  seemed  of  small  account. 
All  that  glorious,  clean,  clear  afternoon,  he  had 
been  sleighing  with  Day,  out  past  Sainte  Foy 
church  to  Cap  Rouge  and  home  by  the  Sillery 
Road.  In  the  still,  cold  air,  the  snow  had 
squeaked  beneath  the  horses'  hoofs,  the  bells 
had  rung  out  crisply,  and  the  dropping  sun  had 
cast  long  bluish  shadows  across  the  glistening 
fields.  Then  the  sun  had  fallen  through  the 
yellow  west,  and  the  golden  afterglow  had  risen 
up  to  meet  the  licking  tongues  of  the  aurora, 
until  both  afterglow  and  aurora  had  lost  their 
lustre  before  the  dazzling  circle  of  the  winter 
moon.  The  driver's  calls  to  his  horses  sounded 
out  as  sharply  as  ever;  but,  on  the  seat  behind 
him,  the  talk  had  fallen  into  silence  while,  as 
though  to  take  the  place  of  words,  one  fur-clad 
shoulder  had  nestled  against  the  other.  And 
Rob,  in  the  growing  darkness,  had  smiled  to 
himself,  as  he  had  recalled  the  dainty  remoteness, 
only  a  year  before,  of  that  same  little  gray  fur  coat. 
Just  outside  the  toll-gate,  the  horses  broke  their 
trot  and  fell  to  plodding  soberly  along.  An  in- 
stant later,  however,  they  shied  violently.  From 
out  the  darkening  landscape,  a  vision  had  sprung 
up  from  beneath  their  very  feet,  a  vision  whose 
stiff  black  hat  was  bound  to  his  head  with  a 


18C  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

knotted  handkerchief,  and  who  pried  himself  to 
his  feet  by  means  of  a  snowshoe  in  each  mittencd 
hand. 

"Oh,  it 's  you  again,"  the  vision  said,  in  level, 
unaccented  voice.  "I  thought  it  was  you,  you 
know." 

Day  omitted  conventional  greeting.  Not  all 
the  repetition  in  the  world  could  accustom  her 
to  Sir  George's  trick  of  springing  up  upon  the 
scene  like  a  roving  British  Jack-in-the-box. 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ? "  she  asked 
abruptly. 

"  Here.  I  was  resting  a  bit,  you  know.  I  've 
learned  to  do  as  you  said." 

"  What  was  that  ?  "  Day  demanded,  wholly  at 
a  loss  to  remember  the  especial  nugget  of  wisdom 
to  which  Sir  George  was  obviously  referring. 

"To  sit  on  my  shoes,"  he  made  reply.  "If  I 
lay  one  across  the  other,  they  don't  leak  so  very 
much  and  it 's  far  more  comfortable  than  sitting 
on  the  snow." 

"  But  what  do  you  sit  down  for  at  all  ?  "  Day 
persisted. 

In  the  pale  yellow  moonlight,  Sir  George  bent 
upon  her  a  glance  of  rebuke  for  her  limited  un- 
derstanding. 

"Because  I  get  so  very  tired,"  he  made  answer 
then. 


IN  QUEBEC  181 


From  an  ominous  trembling  of  the  gray-furred 
shoulder  beside  him,  Rob  judged  that  Day  was 
likely  to  be  speechless,  judged,  too,  that  it  would 
be  well  for  him  to  come  to  her  relief. 

"Good  evening,  Sir  George,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  good  evening  !  "  Sir  George  sought  for 
his  glass,  but  missed  it  by  reason  of  the  size  of 
the  thumb  of  his  mitten.  Without  the  glass,  he 
peered  up  uncertainly  at  the  face  above  him. 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  —  " 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have.     I  'm  Rob  Argyle." 

"  Oh  !     The  fellow  in  the  sleeping  car  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  lame  one  ?  " 

"  The  very  same. " 

"  Good  evening.     I  say,  how  's  your  leg  ?  " 

"Cold  as  blazes,"  Rob  made  cheery  answer. 
"  How  are  yours  ?  " 

"  Mine  ?  Oh,  but  mine  are  n't  lame,  you  know," 
Sir  George  explained  dubiously. 

"Not  yet.     They  will  be,  though." 

Sir  George  cast  an  anxious  glance  down  at  the 
members  under  discussion. 

"  What  makes  you  think  they  will  ?  " 

"  Because  it 's  not  good  for  them  to  go  snow- 
shoeing  all  over  the  Cove  Fields,  and  then  sit 
down  in  the  snow  to  rest." 

Sir  George  looked  up  at  the  occupants  of  the 


188  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

sleigh,  his  lower  jaw  dangling  loosely  in  the  sling 
of  the  kerchief. 

"Perhaps  it  is  n't,"  he  gave  assent.  "But  it 's 
so  tiresome,  this  snowshoeing,  that  a  fellow  has 
to  rest  up  a  bit  now  and  then. " 

Day  once  more  plunged  into  the  conversation. 

"What  makes  you  do  it,  if  you  find  it  so  tire- 
some ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  it 's  the  thing  to  do  here,  you  know. 
When  I  go  home,  they  '11  all  ask  me  if  I  went 
snowshocing  in  Quebec,  just  as  they  '11  ask  me  if 
I  saw  Wall  Street,  when  I  was  in  New  York,  or 
if  I  ate  cheese  in  Neufcbltel,"  Sir  George  ex- 
plained. Then  he  started  suddenly,  his  languid 
attention  evidently  impaled  upon  the  point  of  a 
new  idea.  "I  say,  you  know,"  he  queried;  "how 
does  it  happen  that  you  two  chaps  are  together  ?  " 

This  time,  Day  stared  at  him  in  unmixed  aston- 
ishment Could  it  be  that  Sir  George  Porteous 
was  losing  that  minus  quantity,  his  wits  ? 

"  Why  should  n't  we  be  together  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, so  shortly  that  Sir  George  Porteous 
dodged  at  the  question  as  at  a  physical  blow. 

"No  reason,"  he  reassured  her;  "no  reason  at 
all.  It 's  all  right,  you  know.  I  only  thought 
it  a  bit  strange,  when  you  're  the  only  two  friends 
I  have  in  the  city,  that  you  should  happen  to  be 
friends  of  each  other,  too." 


IN  QUEBEC  189 


Day  hunted  for  her  handkerchief.  Rob's  own 
voice  was  so  unsteady  as  to  drive  him  to  seek  the 
briefest  possible  words. 

"  Very  strange,  inasmuch  as  this  is  my  sister. " 

"  Really  ? " 

"Yes." 

Sir  George  turned  to  Day. 

"  And  he  is  your  brother  ?  " 

"Yes." 

For  the  space  of  a  moment,  Sir  George  pon- 
dered. Then,  — 

"  How  rummy !  "  he  observed,  with  thoughtful 
satisfaction. 

It  ended  with  their  bringing  Sir  George  home 
to  the  Chateau.  Wedged  bodkinwise  between 
them  and  supported  by  a  snowshoe  in  either 
mittened  hand,  Sir  George  came  riding  in  the 
Grande  Alle'e.  For  the  most  part,  he  communed 
with  himself.  Once,  however,  he  broke  the  si- 
lence and  gave  tongue  to  the  stars. 

"It 's  quite  my  own  idea,"  he  assured  an  imag- 
inary audience.  "A  fellow's  hat  comes  off  in  the 
drifts,  and  it 's  no  end  of  a  fuss  to  get  down  and 
pick  it  up.  Once  it 's  tied  on,  you  see,  there  's  no 
more  trouble." 

And  so  it  was  that,  intoxicated  with  ozone  and 
cold  and  suppressed  hilarity,  Rob  Argyle,  coming 
up  the  stairs,  was  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  forget  his 


190  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

feuds  and  all  similar  concerns  and  share  his  over- 
flowing jollity  with  whomsoever  he  might  meet. 
And,  as  it  chanced,  he  met  Janet  just  at  the  head 
of  the  stairs. 

"Hullo,  Janet!"  he  called  jovially.  "How 
goes  it?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you." 

The  echo  of  his  own  voice  dulled  his  ears  to  the 
icy  chill  of  Janet's  reply.  From  helow,  through 
the  open  door  of  his  mother's  room,  he  could  hear, 
by  occasional  words  and  many  giggles,  that  Day 
was  giving  her  mother  a  full  account  of  their 
recent  meeting.  It  was  for  him  to  pour  the 
same  tale  into  the  ears  of  Janet. 

"  You  've  missed  it,  Janet.  You  ought  to  have 
been  with  us,"  he  continued,  with  a  bland  disre- 
gard of  the  fact  that,  uninvited,  Janet  would 
scarcely  have  been  likely  to  have  made  a  part  of 
their  expedition.  "We've  been  interviewing  the 
freak  of  the  ages,  and  you  'd  better  believe  he  was 
amusing. " 

"  Who  was  he  ?  "  Janet  asked  sedately,  as  Rob 
halted  before  her  with  the  obvious  intention  of 
carrying  the  tale  of  his  adventures  into  its  last 
chapter. 

"One  of  your  crazy  Britishers.  We  found  him 
sitting  on  his  snowshoes,  out  by  the  Cove  Fields, 
and  we  have  just  deposited  him  at  his  own  door." 


IN  QUEBEC  191 


"  Where  was  that  ?  "  Janet  still  held  her  voice 
level,  although,  looking  up  at  Rob,  it  took  all  her 
resolution  not  to  meet  his  mood  half  way.  Rob's 
face,  alert  and  alight,  was  most  friendly  and  win- 
ning just  then,  his  yellow  hair  lay  crisply  about 
his  forehead,  his  blue  eyes  were  eager  and  alive 
with  fun,  while  his  fur-lined  coat,  reaching  to  his 
heels,  added  inches  to  his  height  and  manliness 
to  his  whole  figure.  As  he  stood  there,  cap  in 
hand,  smiling  at  her  with  the  gay  friendliness 
she  had  supposed  forever  dead,  Janet  could  feel 
the  whole  gentler,  better  side  of  her  nature  strug- 
gling to  rush  out  and  greet  his  own.  It  would 
be  so  good  to  be  back  again  on  the  old,  familiar, 
jovial  terms.  Not  even  to  Ronald  had  she  been 
willing  to  confess  how  much  she  had  missed  Rob 
out  of  her  life.  And  now  here  he  was,  forget- 
ting the  past,  and  ready  —  She  drew  herself  up 
sharply.  That  was  just  the  trouble.  He  was 
forgetting  the  past,  probably  because  it  was  a 
matter  of  no  importance  to  him.  Very  likely 
he  had  not  minded  it  in  the  least  that  they 
had  quarrelled;  very  likely  it  never  had  oc- 
curred to  him  to  notice  how  systematically  she 
had  held  herself  aloof  from  his  society.  That 
was  all  she  had  counted  to  him,  something  to 
play  with  when  Day  was  busy,  something  to  be 
thrown  aside  and  forgotten  when  Day  was  at  hand 


192  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

and  at  leisure.  And,  in  the  meantime,  she  had 
been  wasting  long  hours  of  worry  over  a  situa- 
tion which,  in  so  far  as  Rob's  minding  it  was 
concerned,  was  wholly  imaginary.  Her  bad  tem- 
per, like  most  other  sins,  had  reacted  on  herself 
and  made  only  herself  uncomfortable.  And,  as 
Janet's  mind  went  leaping  along  from  point  to 
point,  she  was  conscious  of  a  furious  regret  for 
the  tear-soaked  handkerchief  which  she  had  just 
now  rolled  into  a  tight  little  ball  and  thrown  into 
her  top  bureau  drawer.  She  raised  her  head  de- 
fiantly ;  but  she  turned  her  back  to  the  light. 

"Where  was  that?"  Rob  was  echoing.  "The 
Chateau,  of  course;  that  seems  to  be  the  freak- 
shop  for  the  entire  province.  This  fellow  is  the 
gem  of  the  whole  show,  though.  He  was  in  the 
sleeper,  the  day  I  came  up.  Since  then,  I  've 
seen  him,  three  or  four  times.  He  has  a  trick 
of  appearing  at  odd  hours,  like  the  Fool  in  Shake- 
speare's plays,  only  Shakespeare  never  made  one 
half  so  fooly." 

" How  interesting!  "  Janet's  tone  was  modelled 
on  that  of  certain  of  her  mother's  callers.  It  was 
remote  and  elderly  and  wholly  indulgent  to  the 
vivacious  viewpoint  of  her  companion. 

"You  bet  he  is!  Last  time,  we  found  him  just 
as  a  couple  of  nuns  were  shooing  him  out  from 
the  Hotel  Dieu  cloisters.  To-day,  togged  out  in 


IN  QUEBEC  193 


scarlet  mitties  and  a  bandage  over  his  hat  to  hold 
it  on,  he  was  doing  a  trick  on  snowshoes.  At 
least,  he  is  never  trite.  He  does  all  the  regula- 
tion things ;  but  he  manages  to  add  a  fresh,  artistic 
touch  to  the  way  he  goes  about  them.  Some  day 
or  other,  I  expect  to  find  him  sliding  down  the 
face  of  Cape  Diamond,  to  see  if  it  hurt  Mont- 
gomery when  he  fell.  What  have  you  been 
doing,  all  afternoon  ?  "  Rob  wound  up  cheerily. 

"Sewing." 

Rob  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Not  out,  this  jolly  afternoon  ?  " 

Janet's  lips  shut  for  a  moment. 

"  I  had  nothing  to  take  me  out,"  she  replied  then. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  come  along  with  us  ?  There 
would  have  been  plenty  of  room.  You  're  so  little, 
we  could  stick  you  in  anywhere,"  Rob  said  be- 
nevolently. 

The  matter-of-course  assurance  of  his  tone 
nettled  Janet. 

"As  a  general  thing,  I  don't  invite  myself," 
she  answered,  with  an  ominous  dignity. 

Rob  laughed,  as  he  mounted  the  last  step  of  the 
stairs  and  turned  towards  his  own  door. 

"  I  suspect  that 's  one  on  me,  Janet, "  he  re- 
marked, with  easy  good-humour.  "Well,  never 
mind.  Next  time,  just  remind  me,  and  I  '11  in- 
vite you." 

13 


194  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Janet  started  to  speak.  Then,  as  she  heard 
Day's  step  in  the  hall  below,  she  turned  around 
just  in  time  to  catch  the  merry,  mischievous 
gesture  of  warning  and  of  feigned  terror  which 
Day  was  sending  up  to  her  brother  in  the  hall 
above.  For  an  instant,  Janet  flushed  hotly.  She 
was  sure  that  Day  had  been  there  long,  listening 
and  keeping  up  a  commentary  of  derisive  gesticu- 
lation which,  no  doubt,  had  gone  far  to  account 
for  Rob's  hilarity.  Rob  had  called  the  stranger 
a  crazy  Britisher.  Doubtless,  he  had  been  used 
to  call  her  another  and,  when  her  back  was 
turned,  to  make  merry  over  her  with  Day.  She 
stiffened  with  the  thought,  unjust,  unmerited 
though  it  was.  Then  she  cast  one  scornful 
glance  down  at  Day,  one  glance  of  half -veiled 
antagonism  up  at  Rob. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  curtly.  "I  only  accept 
invitations  from  my  friends." 

Then  she  turned  away,  and,  mounting  the  stairs 
to  her  own  room,  she  opened  her  top  bureau  drawer 
and  sought  for  her  handkerchief. 


IN   QUEBEC  195 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

THE  house  was  silent  and  dark,  that  night, 
when  Ronald  Leslie  came  up  the  steps. 
The  click  of  his  latchkey,  however,  was  answered 
by  the  softer  click  of  an  electric  button,  and  by 
the  creak  of  an  upstairs  door. 

"  Ronald !  "  Janet  called  softly,  from  over  the 
banisters. 

"  You  up  ?  " 

Janet's  arm,  plunging  about  in  search  of  the 
second  sleeve  of  her  dressing-gown,  cast  strange 
shadows  on  the  wall. 

"I  heard  you  come,  and  I  got  up.  I  want  to 
hear  about  it." 

"To-night?"  Even  his  whispered  question 
had  a  laugh  lurking  in  it. 

"  Now.  I  'm  not  sleepy,  truthfully.  Come  up 
and  tell  me,"  she  begged.  And  Ronald,  shaking 
himself  free  of  his  coat,  mounted  the  stairs. 

He  found  a  tight  little  bundle  of  blue  blanket 
and  blue  dressing-gown  huddled  in  a  corner  of  the 
couch,  and  the  sole  arm-chair  the  room  afforded, 
drawn  forward  and  evidently  awaiting  him. 


196  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"Bad  child!  You  '11  catch  a  cold,"  he  admon- 
ished her,  as,  with  one  strong  hand,  he  dragged 
the  coverings  from  the  bed  and  heaped  them 
about  her.  "You  ought  to  be  asleep." 

A  shapeless  lump  of  bedclothes  pointed  vaguely 
in  the  direction  of  the  clock. 

"It's  early  yet,  and  I  want  to  hear  about  it. 
Sit  down  and  tell  me.  Something  funny  has 
happened;  I  know  it  from  the  look  in  your 
eyes. " 

Ronald  laughed,  as  he  settled  himself  in  the 
arm-chair.  His  laugh  increased,  until  his  broad 
shoulders  shook. 

"Somebody  happened,  Janet, "he  corrected  her. 

"Who?" 

"  Sir  George  Porteous. " 

«  Who  's  he  ?  " 

"An  embodied  joke."  Ronald  felt  about  in 
his  pockets,  produced  a  card,  and  tossed  the 
card  across  to  Janet.  "This  was  it,"  he  added 
then.  "  He  's  out  from  London,  says  he  has  been 
here  since  October;  but,  if  he  has,  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  have  missed  him.  He  's  not  the  sort  to  pass 
in  a  crowd. " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Janet  asked  again,  and  again 
Ronald  laughed. 

"Because  he  is  so  funny,  funny.  He  seems  a 
good  little  chap,  well-bred  and  good-natured ;  but 


IN  QUEBEC  197 


I  never  saw  any  human  being  with  so  little  sense, 
nor  so  little  idea  how  to  show  off  what  sense  he 
has." 

'•  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  "  Janet  demanded 
a  bit  impatiently,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  Ronald 
held  a  monopoly  of  the  joke. 

"London." 

"  Yes,  you  said  so.     But  at  your  dinner  ?  " 

"  The  chief  asked  him.  It  seems,  he  brought  a 
letter  to  the  chief,  and  there  was  some  talk  of  his 
coming  into  the  office  for  the  winter.  I  fancy  the 
talk  will  go  up  in  smoke,  though,  for  Sir  George 
Porteous  was  never  constructed  for  office  life.  He 
asked  me  if  I  did  n't  find  it  very  tiresome,  sitting 
on  a  stool,  all  day ;  and,  after  he  had  digested  my 
answer,  he  followed  it  up  with  a  question  as  to 
whether  a  fellow  might  n't  bring  his  own  footrest, 
the  stools  were  so  beastly  high." 

"  Ronald !  "  Janet  protested. 

"For  a  fact,  Janet.  I  'm  not  making  up  a 
word.  You  see,  I  had  him  to  talk  to.  The 
chief  told  me  about  him,  as  soon  as  I  went  in, 
told  me  he  was  a  stranger  here  and  asked  me 
to  look  out  for  him.  He  may  have  thought  the 
other  fellows  were  more  likely  to  chaff  him.  Sir 
George  was  late  coming;  we  were  half  through 
dinner,  when  he  came  sauntering  in  with  some 
wild  excuse  about  having  sat  too  long  in  the  snow 


198  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

and  being  so  stiff  that  it  took  him  a  good  while 
to  dress." 

"Ronald!  "  Janet  protested  again. 

And  again  Ronald  replied  concisely,  — 

"Fact." 

"What  is  he  like?" 

"  The  sort  of  thing  that  drifts  out  here,  now  and 
then,  to  keep  us  content  with  being  colonials." 

"  Then  he  's  not  of  our  sort  ?  "  Janet  queried. 

"  Thank  the  Immortals,  no ! "  Ronald  said  fer- 
vently. Then  he  relented.  "  And  yet,  after  all, 
Janet,  I  rather  liked  the  fellow.  He  is  funny, 
the  funniest  thing  that  ever  talked ;  but  now  and 
then  he  had  an  idea,  and  the  idea  was  generally 
good.  The  only  trouble  was  that  they  came  so 
rarely  that  they  took  me  by  surprise,  and  I  an- 
swered at  random  and  threw  him  off  the  track. 
He  's  easily  thrown  off  the  track,  too,"  Ronald 
added  reminiscently. 

"  What  does  he  look  like  ? "  Janet  demanded. 
"Maybe  I  have  seen  him  somewhere." 

Ronald  searched  his  mind  for  words. 

"I'm  no  gocd  at  description,  Janet,"  he  said 
then.  "He  is  little  and  dark,  with  lanky  dark 
hair  that  dangles  all  over  his  forehead,  and  a  lean 
little  lower  jaw  that  dangles  all  over  his  collar. 
It  has  dangled  there  till  it  lias  worn  a  pair  of 
deep,  deep  wrinkles  in  his  cheeks.  lie  has  a 


IN  QUEBEC  199 


monocle,  and  he  carries  his  mouth  ajar,  and, 
when  he  wants  to  be  extra  impressive,  he  ges- 
ticulates with  his  forefinger." 

Janet  sat  up  alertly. 

"  And  sticks  his  nose  in  the  air,  and  turns  his 
head  back  and  forth  without  moving  his  eyes,  and 
looks  as  if  he  did  n't  know  enough  to  stop  a  street- 
car ?  "  she  asked. 

"  The  very  same. " 

She  sank  back  again  among  her  blankets. 

"Hh!     I  know  him,"  she  asserted. 

"Know  him?" 

"Yes.     I  've  seen  him  on  the  terrace." 

"  Ever  heard  him  talk  ?  "  Ronald  queried. 

"No." 

"  Then  you  've  lost  a  treat.  His  first  words  to 
me  were  astounding.  The  chief  introduced  us, 
and  he  put  up  his  glass  and  looked  at  me,  up  and 
up  and  up  and  up,  for  he  's  a  little  fellow.  Then 
he  dropped  his  glass  and  said,  'Oh,  how  do  you 
do  ?  Do  you  happen  to  have  a  safety  pin  any- 
where about  you  ?  ' 

Janet  subsided  among  her  blankets. 

"To  pin  on  his  bib  ?  "  she  giggled. 

"Nobody  knows.  Latoure  sat  on  the  other 
side,  and  he  choked  until  he  had  to  leave  the 
table.  Under  the  circumstances,  I  did  n't  feel 
like  asking  too  many  questions,"  Ronald  con- 


200  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

fessed.  "Do  you  know,  Janet,  it  was  a  funny 
thing;  but  I  kept  thinking,  all  the  time  I  was 
talking  to  him,  how  Day  would  have  taken  him 
in.  I  was  out  on  the  Cove  Fields  with  her,  one 
afternoon,  and  another  fellow  of  about  the  same 
sort  came  along  and  spoke  to  us.  He  was  n't 
nearly  so  funny;  but  I  thought  Day  would  die 
of  him."  As  he  spoke,  Ronald  started  to  rise. 

Janet  had  sobered  at  his  words.  All  at  once, 
there  had  come  back  to  her  the  memory  of  her 
real  reason  for  summoning  Ronald  to  her  room. 
The  talk,  drifting  into  other  channels,  had  made 
her  forget  her  resolution.  Now  she  gripped  it 
sturdily. 

"  Don't  go  yet,  Ronald.  You  are  n't  sleepy,  I 
know. " 

Something  in  her  tone  caught  his  attention, 
always  vigilant  where  Janet  was  concerned. 

"  What  is  it,  dear  ?  Is  something  wrong  ?  "  he 
asked  instantly. 

"Yes.  No.  Not  now.  But  are  you  too  tired 
to  stay  and  talk  it  over  ?  " 

For  his  answer,  Ronald  seated  himself  and 
waited,  waited  long  and  patiently  for,  now  that 
her  chance  was  come,  Janet  seemed  loath  to 
speak. 

"Do  you  remember  the  day  of  the  storm, 
Ronald  ?  "  she  blurted  out  at  length. 


'Now  that  her  chance  was  come,  Janet  seemed  loath  to  speak."     Paye  200. 


IN   QUEBEC  201 


"The  day  things  happened  ?  " 

She  nodded.  Under  her  muffling  blankets,  he 
could  see  her  hands  working  uneasily.  The 
pause  lengthened  once  more. 

"Did  you  ever  know  what  started  all  the  fuss  ?  " 
she  blurted  out  again. 

"No." 

"Well,  I  did." 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I."  She  reiterated  her  statement,  witli 
a  sudden  wave  of  the  satisfaction  girls  sometimes 
take  in  heaping  blame  upon  their  own  heads.  "  It 
was  all  my  fault;  at  least,  not  all,  but  mostly. 
Anyway,  I  started  it." 

"  But,  Janet,  how  ?  " 

Her  reply  came  crisply. 

"  Fighting  Day.     Then  fighting  Rob. " 

"  Rob  ?  "  Ronald  looked  up  from  the  carpet. 
"  I  did  n't  suppose  anybody  ever  fought  with  him. " 

"  You  've  fought  him,  your  own  self,  ever  since 
that  night,"  Janet  retorted  sharply,  for  she  was 
quick  to  feel  the  disappointment  which  sounded 
underneath  Ronald's  surprise.  "  Besides,  you 
said,  yourself,  that  you  had  a  fuss  with  him, 
that  very  night." 

Ronald's  face  grew  scarlet. 

"So  I  did,  Janet.  I  was  wild  about  you,  and 
off  my  nerve." 


202  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"So  was  I  off  my  nerve,  I  suppose,"  she  re- 
sponded. "  Let 's  not  get  mad  at  each  other, 
Ronald."  She  laughed  a  little  nervously.  "That 
would  be  the  last  straw." 

But  his  answering  smile  was  free  from  all  trace 
of  anger. 

"  I  'm  not  cross,  Janet.  I  'm  only  trying  to 
think  it  out.  What  started  you  and  Day  off  ?  " 

Janet  hesitated.  Then  she  resolved  to  make  a 
clean  breast  of  the  matter. 

"I  was  cross,  that  morning.  I  got  up,  cross. 
My  hair  would  n't  do.  It  tangled  and  threw  the 
comb,  and  that  broke.  Then  I  tore  the  placket 
of  my  skirt,  not  straight,  but  all  off  cornerwise. 
Then  1  came  down  to  breakfast,  and  found  Marie 
had  burned  the  porridge  till  it  tasted  like  a  salt- 
hay  bonfire.  By  the  time  breakfast  was  over,  I 
did  n't  care  what  happened,  so,  when  Day  began 
to  criticize  the  Quebec  shops,  I  turned  around  and 
told  her  just  what  I  thought  of  her. "  Janet  had 
straightened  up,  blankets  and  all,  in  the  fervour 
of  her  tale.  Now  she  sank  back  again,  with  a 
nervous  little  giggle.  "And  I  did  n't  think  nice 
things  at  all,"  she  added. 

Ronald's  eyes  were  once  more  on  the  carpet. 
He  spoke  without  lifting  them,  — 

"I  'm  sorry." 

Janet  coloured.     Then,  — 


IN  QUEBEC  203 


"So  was  I,  the  minute  I  had  done  it,"  she  said. 
"And,  the  worst  of  it  was,  the  more  sorry  I  felt, 
the  more  I  longed  to  go  at  her  again.  It  has  been 
so,  ever  since.  I  've  been  sorry  and  ashamed;  but 
she  has  been  so  fluffy  and  superior  about  it  all 
that  I  have  been  tempted,  a  dozen  times  over,  to 
start  fresh  and  do  it  all  over  again.  It  seemed 
a  shame  to  be  so  sorry  about  something  that 
hadn't  taken  any  more  effect." 

A  little  pause  followed  her  last  words.  Sud- 
denly she  broke  it  by  asking, — 

"  Do  you  think  I  'm  very  horrid,  Ronald  ?  " 

He  roused  himself  at  the  question. 

"No,  dear;  not  horrid.  I  'm  only  sorry  and  a 
good  deal  surprised." 

Her  colour  came  again,  while  she  looked  at  him 
through  her  long  lashes. 

"You  did  n't  think  I  had  it  in  me,  Ronald  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

"No,  Janet.     I  did  n't." 

"Well,  I  have,"  she  said,  with  sudden  spirit. 
"What 's  more,  I  suspect  most  girls  have,  if  the 
truth  were  known.  It 's  there,  all  the  time;  it  is 
only  a  question  whether  something  comes  up  to 
set  us  off.  Some  of  us  take  more  setting  than 
others;  some  of  us  go  farther  than  others,  when 
we  're  set.  But  I  don't  believe  there  's  a  girl 
living,  a  real,  live,  healthy  girl,  that  has  n't  a 


204  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

streak  of  gunpowder  in  her,  somewhere  or  other. 
If  there  is,  then  I  don't  want  to  meet  her. " 

"Nor  I,"  Ronald  assented  unexpectedly. 
"Neither  do  I  want  to  meet  a  girl  who  leaves 
her  gunpowder  lying  around  loose.  If  a  spark 
drops  on  it,  she  is  as  likely  to  blow  up  her  best 
friend  as  her  worst  enemy.  It 's  as  uncomfortable 
for  one  as  for  the  other;  but  it  generally  makes 
some  difference  afterwards  to  the  girl  herself." 
He  spoke  with  the  quiet  dignity  which  he  assumed 
at  times,  a  dignity  which  never  failed  to  make 
Janet  think  back  to  their  father,  now  sleeping 
under  the  Mount  Hermon  trees.  Then  he  held 
out  his  arms.  "Come  over  here,  Janet,"  he  said. 

And  Janet  came.  Great  girl  that  she  was, 
blankets  and  all  she  curled  herself  up  on  Ron- 
ald's knee  and  nestled  to  the  circling  grasp  of 
his  strong  arms. 

"  Is  n't  it  all  horrid  ?  "  she  said  brokenly  at 
length. 

And  Ronald  answered  gravely, — 

"  Yes,  dear,  it  is.  Still,  I  'm  glad  you  've  told 
me." 

"I  should  have  told  you  before,  only  I  sup- 
posed you  all  knew  it." 

"  But  how  could  we  know  ?  " 

Janet  lifted  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  with  a 
touch  of  her  former  spirit. 


IN  QUEBEC  205 


"I  should  think  you  had  time  enough  to  talk  it 
over  and  get  all  the  facts,  while  I  was  freezing  in 
the  coalhole,"  she  responded. 

"  But  who  was  there  to  tell  them  ?  " 

"Day." 

"  You  're  not  quite  fair  to  Day,  Janet.  You 
never  were." 

"What 's  the  use,  when  she  's  so  more  than  fair 
to  herself  ?  "  Janet  protested  mutinously.  "  It 
never  seems  to  occur  to  Day  Argyle  that  she 
is  n't  just  right,  never.  Perhaps  she  is  all 
right.  She  may  be,  for  all  I  know.  Still,  I 
do  wish  she  would  show  occasional  misgivings 
on  the  subject.  I  'd  like  to  see  her,  just  once, 
all  mussed  up  and  crying  her  eyes  out." 

Prudently  Ronald  changed  the  subject.  He 
felt  that  Janet  was  sounding  feminine  depths 
which  he  could  never  hope  to  fathom.  Rather 
than  flounder  about  too  aimlessly,  he  dived  in 
another  direction. 

"But  you  said  you  fought  with  Rob,  too,"  he 
suggested. 

Janet  sat  up  straight. 

"So  I  did.  It  was  afterwards,  and  it  almost 
killed  me,"  she  confessed.  "1  did  n't  care  about 
Day  so  much ;  but  it  has  worried  me  into  mental 
cramps,  this  fuss  with  Rob.  I  was  all  to  blame, 
and  he  is  such  a  dear.  I  can  see  him  now,  poor 


206  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

old  boy,  stooping  down  to  get  his  stick  and  then 
getting  up  and  looking  at  me,  as  if  he  thought  I 
had  gone  crazy.  Perhaps  I  had."  Again  Janet's 
laugh  threatened  to  become  hysterical. 

With  rare  patience,  Ronald  waited  until  she 
was  quiet  once  more.  Then  he  said  gently, — 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Janet;  that  is,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"  But  I  don't  mind,  Ronald.  It 's  what  I  stayed 
awake  for.  It 's  worse  than  ever,  to-night,  and 
I've  just  got  to  tell  somebody  or  die,"  Janet 
burst  out,  in  a  sudden  access  of  woe. 

"  What  is  wrong,  to-night  ?  " 

"Everything,"  Janet  wailed  comprehensively. 
"It  was  my  fault  again,  though,  if  that  is  any 
comfort  to  you.  You  had  gone,  and  I  was  just 
going  downstairs,  when  I  met  Rob  coming  up. 
All  at  once,  he  was  just  like  his  dear  old  jolly 
self,  and  talked  away  just  as  he  used  to  do.  1 
was  stiff  and  poky  and  horrid,  for  I  was  sur- 
prised and  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it;  but 
he  did  n't  take  any  notice  and  went  on  talking, 
till  I  almost  forgot  we  had  been  keeping  still. 
And  then,  all  at  once,  I  heard  a  little  noise,  and 
there  was  Day,  snipping  up  her  nose  at  me  and 
making  fun  of  me  behind  my  back,  and  I  just 
snapped  out  something  and  marched  up  here  to 
my  room,  and  I  have  n't  been  down  since." 


IN  QUEBEC  207 


"  But,  Janet  —  " 

"Don't  let's  argue,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"  What 's  the  use  ?  I  know  just  how  bad  I 
was ;  I  've  bitten  off  my  own  nose  to  spite  my 
face.  If  Day  had  only  kept  herself  out  of  it, 
Rob  and  I  would  have  been  good  friends,  within 
ten  minutes.  I  felt  it  coming;  and  then,  all  at 
once,  she  spoiled  it  all." 

"But  she  didn't  spoil  your  friendship,  in  the 
first  place,"  Ronald  suggested. 

"Yes,  she  did,  too.  She  stirred  me  up  and 
made  me  cross,"  Janet  insisted,  quite  oblivious 
of  the  fact  that,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  earlier,  she 
had  assigned  another  cause  for  her  bad  temper. 

"  And  so  you  took  it  out  on  Rob  ?  " 

"  Don't  laugh,  Ronald, "  she  begged  him.  "  Truly 
it  is  n't  funny.  You  would  n't  think  so,  if  you  'd 
seen  Rob's  face.  He  was  all  white,  white,  and  his 
eyes  grew  big,  and  his  lips  twitched.  I  think  he 
was  afraid  of  what  I  'd  do  next.  You  see,  I  went 
to  the  library  and  found  him  there,  all  sole  alone, 
and  I  went  over  and  sat  down  beside  him  to  talk. 
He  looked  as  lonesome  as  I  felt.  And  then,  all 
of  a  sudden,  he  began  teasing  me.  I  hate  being 
teased ;  I  'm  not  used  to  it,  and,  that  day,  I 
did  n't  like  it  a  bit.  I  was  all  edgewise,  and 
I  —  I  rather  think  I  hoped  he  'd  cuddle  me,  in- 
stead. But  he  didn't;  he  teased.  Then  I  lost 


208  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

my  temper,  and  said  things  I  did  n't  mean,  and 
then,  while  he  was  getting  on  his  feet,  I  ran  away 
and  left  him. " 

Ronald's  arm  tightened  suddenly. 

"  And  that  was  how  you  came  in  the  vault  ?  " 
he  inquired,  for,  up  to  now,  Janet  had  main- 
tained a  sturdy  reticence  in  regard  to  the  motive 
which  had  led  to  her  explorations. 

"I  didn't  mind  that,"  she  said  shortly.  "It 
was  a  fair  punishment.  I  knew  it  was  going  to 
be  a  fearful  storm;  I  knew  that  very  likely  the 
cars  would  stop  running.  Instead  of  sticking  to 
Rob  and  seeing  that  he  came  home  safely,  I  ran 
away  from  him  and  left  him  to  get  on  alone  as 
best  he  could." 

"And  the  vault?"  Ronald  questioned  again. 

Janet's  colour  rose  in  her  cheeks. 

"  That  was  part  of  it.  He  came  to  the  door  and 
called  after  me  down  the  stairs.  I  was  n't  going 
to  let  him  catch  me  then ;  I  was  too  angry.  I  ex- 
pected he  would  come  downstairs  after  me,  and  I 
was  bound  I  'd  not  be  seen,  so  I  dodged  inside  the 
nearest  door." 

"And?"  Ronald  asked. 

"And  the  door  had  a  spring  lock,"  Janet  an- 
swered conclusively.  Then  she  added,  "And, 
when  I  did  get  home,  there  was  Rob  put  to  bed 
for  four  mortal  days,  and  his  mother  half-insane 


IN  QUEBEC  209 


with  fear  he  had  done  himself  a  harm  he  'd  never 
get  over.  I  used  to  lie  awake,  nights,  and  imagine 
him  bedridden  and  it  all  my  fault,  and  think  how 
pale  and  thin  and  sad  he  probably  was.  And  then, 
when  he  did  come  downstairs,  there  he  was,  jolly 
and  big  and  handsome  as  ever,  and  not  limping 
one  bit  more  than  he  always  had  done.  But  do 
you  wonder  I  hated  myself  and  the  Argyles  and 
everybody  else  ?  Everything  had  gone  wrong, 
and  I  did  n't  care  for  anybody,  and  I  was  to 
blame  for  it  all,  and  the  worst  of  it  all  was 
that  —  none  of  —  you  —  took  —  the  trouble  —  to 
ask  —  me  —  what  the  trouble  —  really  was. "  And 
Janet,  her  head  on  Ronald's  broad  shoulder,  fell 
to  sobbing  in  good  earnest. 

It  was  growing  late,  before  Ronald  felt  the  last 
long  sob  go  shivering  through  her  thin,  lithe  little 
body.  Then,  and  not  till  then,  he  said  gently,  — 

"  I  'm  sorry,  Janet.  It  has  been  very  messy. 
Still,  it  is  done,  and  all  we  can  do  now  is  to  go 
to  work  to  undo  it. " 

"  We  ?  "  she  queried  incredulously. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"But  I  began  it." 

"And  I  helped  to  keep  it  up,"  he  reminded 
her. 

Janet  gave  a  sudden,  vengeful  sniff. 

"But  we  were  n't  the  only  ones  to  blame." 

14 


210  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"We  were  the  first,"  he  reminded  her  again. 

"I  suppose.  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it,  Ronald  ?  " 

"Make  friends." 

"How?" 

"  Whatever  way  shows  itself  first. " 

She  compressed  her  lips  doubtfully. 

"  Apologize  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"Certainly." 

"But,  Ronald,  I  won't!     At  least,  not  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  I  'd  rather  get  friends  first,  and  apolo- 
gize afterwards,"  she  protested. 

"When  a  cart  gets  to  dragging  the  horse,  it 
generally  runs  down  hill  and  ends  in  the  gutter," 
he  suggested. 

"Don't!"  she  said  rebelliously.  "You  sound 
like  a  moral,  an  ^Esop  moral,  and  I  can  do  my 
own  moralizing.  I  know  I  ought  to  apologize; 
I  've  known  it  from  the  start,  and  the  knowing 
it  has  helped  to  make  me  cranky.  However,  the 
long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  I  don't  want  to." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  questioned. 

She  slid  down  from  his  knee  and  stood  facing 
him,  a  shapeless  cocoon  of  blankets  topped  with 
a  face  which,  just  then,  seemed  to  be  all  eyes. 

"Because,"  she  answered;  "one  feels  such  a 
fool,  while  the  apology  is  being  accepted  and 


IN  QUEBEC  211 


the  fatted  calf  is  being  butchered.  Wait  till  I 
go  out  to  Cap  Rouge,  some  day  in  the  holidays, 
and  I  '11  telephone  in  my  apology  from  there." 

"But  next  week  is  Christmas,"  he  reminded 
her. 

"What  if  it  is?" 

"And  one  can't  fight  on  Christmas." 

"  One  can  let  each  other  alone,  then, "  she  re- 
torted. "  We  are  n't  going  to  hang  up  our  stock- 
ings together." 

Ronald  smiled,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"No,"  he  assented.  "Still,  one  hates  to  talk 
about  Peace  on  Earth,  when  there  's  such  a  jolly 
row  going  on  in  the  house.  If  I  were  you, 
Janet  —  " 

"  You  are  n't, "  she  said.     "  But  what  about  it  ?  " 

"If  I  were  you,  I  rather  think  I'd  apologize 
before  then." 

She  stood,  for  a  moment,  her  eyes  on  the  floor, 
while  she  pondered  the  matter.  Then  she  lifted 
her  eyes  and  smiled,  with  somewhat  of  her  old 
merriment. 

"If  I  were  you,  brother,  I  should,  and  munch 
my  humble  pie  for  Christmas  dinner.  Being  my- 
self, I  rather  think  I  '11  hold  my  peace  and  let 
the  storm  blow  over  as  best  it  can.  Rob  is  going 
away,  the  twenty-seventh.  By  the  time  he  gets 
back,  you  and  Day  will  have  made  it  up,  and 


212  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

taken  me  into  grace  once  more.  After  that, 
things  will  go  swimmingly.  I  'm  sorry,  and 
ashamed,  and  all  the  rest.  Still,  I  do  think, 
all  things  considered,  that  those  two  Argyles 
have  been  rather  more  superior  and  forgiving 
than  the  case  warrants."  She  laughed,  and 
her  laugh  was  not  wholly  mirthful.  Then,  all 
of  a  sudden,  her  face  gentled,  as  she  looked  up 
at  her  tall  brother.  "Ronald,  you  are  a  darling," 
she  said  impetuously.  "I  'm  glad  I  've  talked  it 
out  with  you.  Some  day,  I  may  even  get  to  a 
state  of  sanctity  where  I  am  willing  to  take  your 
advice.  Anyway,  I  know  you  are  in  the  right 
of  it,  and  I  'm  glad  I  've  got  you  to  give  me  a 
lecture  now  and  then.  Now  go  to  bed,  you  poor 
dear  thing,  or  you'll  be  dead  in  the  morning." 
And  she  stretched  up  her  face  for  a  good-night 
kiss. 


IN   QUEBEC  213 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

DAY  crossed  three  items  off  her  list.     Then 
she  bit  the  end  of  her  pencil  and  shook 
her  head.     Rob,  leaning  back  in  a  nest  of  furs, 
eyed  her  askance. 

"  What  now  ?  "  he  queried. 

"Nothing;  only  we  don't  seem  to  be  getting  on 
at  all,  and  we  must  be  home  by  lunch-time." 

"  Why  ?  "  Rob  asked,  with  suave  unconcern. 

"Because  we  both  were  so  late  at  breakfast 
that,  if  we  do  it  again  at  lunch,  Mrs.  Leslie 
will  make  a  fuss." 

"  Then  I  '11  let  loose  the  dogs  of  war,  and  we  '11 
have  sassaquaw, "  Rob  reassured  her.  "  Look  here, 
Day,  this  is  the  windiest  corner  in  town,  and  I  'm 
freezing.  Can't  you  chew  your  pencil  just  as  well, 
if  our  Jehu  drives  ahead  ?  " 

"Punch  him  with  your  stick  and  set  him  going; 
I  'm  having  too  much  on  my  mind  to  talk  French," 
Day  responded,  heedless  of  the  chance  to  air  the 
results  of  certain  morning  lessons.  "  By  the  way, 
what  is  sassaquaw  ?  " 


214  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  It  means  no  end  of  a  row.  I  got  it  out  of  a 
book,"  Rob  replied,  as  he  scientifically  prodded 
their  carter  in  the  ribs.  "The  word  stuck  in 
my  mind;  it  seemed  such  a  satisfactory  summing 
up  of  the  whole  Leslie-Argyle  situation.  Did  you 
hear  Janet  turn  and  rend  me,  last  night  ?  " 

"I'm  neither  deaf  nor  blind,"  Day  retorted. 
"That  is  why  I  don't  want  to  be  late  to  lunch, 
after  we  both  missed  breakfast.  It  would  look 
as  if  we  were  afraid  and  were  keeping  out  of 
their  way." 

"So  I  am,"  Rob  answered  composedly. 

Day  lifted  her  head  from  her  list. 

"I  ain't,"  she  responded,  with  a  fervour  which 
the  more  decorous  form  of  the  verb  would  have 
been  powerless  to  give. 

Rob  laughed.  Then  he  squinted  down  over  her 
shoulder. 

"  How  are  we  getting  on,  anyway  ?  "  he  asked. 

Day's  answer  held  an  accent  of  despair. 

"  We  are  n't.  Rob,  I  love  Christmas,  when  it 
comes;  but  the  week  before  it  is  awful.  What 
are  we  going  to  give  mother  ?  " 

"  Give  her  the  mink  head  opera  bag,  and  call  it 
Moses. " 

Day  wrinkled  her  brows. 

"But  she  hasn't  a  particle  of  mink  to  her 
name,"  she  objected. 


77V  QUEBEC  215 


"No  matter.  Time  she  had.  What  is  mink, 
anyhow  ?  " 

"Like  the  lining  of  your  coat.  Mother  wears 
seal.  Don't  you  know  the  difference  ? " 

"No.  They  both  are  skin  and  thatched  with 
brown  hair.  Well,  if  you  don't  want  that,  what 
about  the  little  maple  leaf  with  the  garnets  ?  " 

Day's  nose  went  upward. 

"Tourist-y,"  she  said  succinctly. 

"Maybe.  Still,  it 's  pretty,  and  it 's  her  birth- 
stone,  too.  Why  don't  we  get  her  some  sort  of 
leather  thing  ?  " 

"  But  we  've  bought  the  dressing-case  for  father. " 

"What  of  it?" 

"We  don't  want  to  look  as  if  we  took  advan- 
tage of  wholesale  rates,"  Day  suggested.  Then 
she  glanced  up.  "Rob,  where  is  this  man  tak- 
ing us  ?  " 

"  'F  I  know.  I  communicated  to  his  ribs  an 
impression  that  he  was  to  go  ahead,  and  he  ap- 
pears to  be  going.  If  he  keeps  on,  I  imagine 
he  '11  land  in  Beauport.  Shall  I  stop  him  ?  " 

"No.  Turn  him  around  and  head  him  back 
into  Buade  Street.  Mother  loves  furs,  and  we  'd 
best  get  something  for  her  there.  I  don't  know 
but,"  Day  gave  an  anxious  sigh;  "but  the  bag 
will  be  the  best  thing.  Then,  if  she  does  n't 
like  it,  she  can  give  it  to  me." 


216  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Rob  joggled  her  sociably  with  his  elbow. 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  Where  do  I  come  in  ?  "  he 
protested. 

"  Boys  don't  carry  bags.  What  would  you  do 
with  it  ?  " 

"Carry  it  to  church,  with  a  span  clean  hand- 
kerchief in  it,  and  my  offertory  penny.  Have  you 
bought  my  present  yet,  Day  ?  " 

"  Ages  ago.     Did  you  get  mine  ?  " 

"How  do  you  know  you'll  get  any?"  Then 
his  voice  lost  its  merriment.  "  I  say,  Day,  what 
about  Janet  and  Ronald  ?  " 

"Why,  nothing,"  Day  responded  blankly. 

"  But  it  seems  rather  beastly  to  be  in  the  house 
with  them,  and  not  give  them  anything." 

"In  the  South  African  war,  the  Boers  scalped 
their  enemies  on  Christmas  Eve,"  she  reminded 
him. 

"  I  'm  no  bore.  Neither  do  I  care  to  offer  my 
scalp  to  Ronald,"  he  retorted. 

"  Ronald  is  n't  a  bore. " 

"He  bores  me." 

Day's  eyes  belied  the  gravity  of  her  voice,  as  she 
gave  rebuke,  — 

"Rob,  I  believe  you  are  jealous  of  Ronald." 

He  laughed. 

"I  don't  appear  to  have  much  cause." 

"No;   but  you  don't  want  us  to  make  up,  for 


IN  QUEBEC  217 


fear  he  '11  get  in  your  way,"  she  persisted 
merrily. 

To  her  surprise,  she  felt  Rob's  shoulder  come 
close  against  her  own,  as  he  answered  with  sudden 
soberness,  — 

"That 's  where  you  're  right,  little  sister.  1  'd 
hate  it  like  fury  to  come  back  from  New  York  and 
find  myself  sidetracked  once  more." 

"  Once  more  ?  "  she  echoed.    "  Were  you  ever  ?  " 

He  hesitated.     Then,  — 

"Yes,  I  was,"  he  said;  "when  I  first  came." 

As  a  rule,  Day  hated  demonstrations.  Now, 
under  the  robe,  her  hand  sought  Rob's  fingers. 

"You  never  will  be  again,"  she  said.  And 
Rob  believed  her,  believed  her  more,  when  she 
added,  "Oh,  Rob,  I  wish  you  did  n't  have  to  go! " 

"Only  for  two  weeks,"  he  reminded  her. 

"  But  so  much  can  happen  in  two  weeks.  Be- 
sides, he  may  keep  you  longer." 

"I  don't  see  why  he  should." 

"Nor  I.  And  yet,  I  get  uneasy  whenever  I 
think  about  it.  I  never  felt  that  way  before." 
She  faced  him  abruptly,  and  sat  looking  steadily 
into  his  blue  eyes.  "Rob,  you  think  you  have 
been  gaining  ? "  she  asked  him. 

"Sure." 

"And  that  your  falls  and  things  have  n't  done 
you  any  real  harm  ?  " 


218  JANET:   HEll    WINTER 

"Not  a  bit." 

"And  you  '11  be  all  right  in  time  ?  " 

"Sure." 

She  sank  back  in  her  seat,  as  if  reassured. 

"Yes,"  she  said  a  little  wearily;  "but  the  time 
is  so  long." 

Rob  reached  around  behind  her  and  pulled  the 
robe  into  place.  For  some  reason  best  known  to 
himself,  he  neglected  to  withdraw  his  arm. 

"  You  hate  it,  too  ?  "  he  queried. 

She  nodded  vehemently. 

"  Yes ;  and,  the  funny  thing  is,  I  hate  it  for  my- 
self even  more  than  I  do  for  you.  There  are  so 
many  things  I  want  to  do  together,  and  we  can't; 
and,  every  now  and  then,  I  get  to  thinking  what  a 
chance  it  is,  our  being  together,  this  winter,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  know  each  other.  We  could  do 
so  many  things,  if  you  only  could." 

Rob  needed  no  interpreter  to  show  him  the 
meaning  of  the  final  phrase,  nor  yet  of  the  un- 
wonted vibrant  note  in  Day's  young  voice.  He 
drew  the  robe  a  little  closer  and  held  it  there 
firmly,  while  he  sat  silent  for  a  moment,  with 
his  blue  eyes  fixed  upon  the  horizontal  wrinkles 
of  coonskin  that  barred  their  driver's  back. 

"Never  mind,  Day,"  he  said  then.  "If  I  could 
have  done  all  the  things,  I  'd  have  been  in  Exeter 
now,  not  here.  Perhaps,  all  things  considered, 


IN  QUEBEC  219 

it  is  just  as  well  as  it  is.  Only  be  sure  you 
miss  me,  while  I  'm  gone. " 

She  snuggled  back  against  his  arm. 

"Miss  you,  Rob!  And  you  really  have  to  go, 
next  week  ?  " 

"  The  twenty-seventh.  I  '11  be  back  by  the 
middle  of  the  month,  by  the  latest;  and,  mind 
you,  Day,  you  're  to  come  over  to  meet  me  at 
Levis.  No  shutting  yourself  up  to  peek  down 
at  me,  this  time,  when  I  come  in  the  house ! " 

They  both  laughed,  as  at  some  far-off  memory. 
Then  Day  asked,  — 

"  And  bring  Ronald  with  me  ?  " 

"  If  you  do,  1  '11  chuck  him  off  the  ferry.  It 's 
you  I  want,  Day,  not  your  henchman. " 

"He  may  not  be  benching,  even  by  that  time," 
Day  answered  gayly.  "  But,  Rob,  all  this  is 
idyllic,  and  you  know  I  think  you  are  the  dearest 
thing  that  ever  breathed;  but  here  is  Buade 
Street,  and  we  must  focus  our  mind  on  the  ques- 
tion of  mother  and  all  that  trail  of  Ross  cousins." 

Rob  glanced  up  at  the  clock  on  the  City  Hall ; 
then  he  caressed  himself  with  his  unoccupied 
hand. 

"  I  'd  rather  focus  my  stomach  on  some  dinner, 
Day,"  he  objected.  "It  is  half  past  one  by  the 
meetin'  house  clock,  and  affection  is  more  enjoy- 
able than  it  is  filling.  Get  the  bag  for  mother, 


220  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

and,  if  it  has  to  match,  order  a  seal  tail  hung  on 
each  corner.  Then  get  a  bunch  of  assorted  hat- 
pins for  the  Ross  tribe,  and  come  along  home  to 
lunch.  I  '11  give  you  ten  minutes  to  shop.  Out 
you  go,  ma'am,  and  be  quick  ! "  And  Rob  flapped 
open  the  robe  and  curled  up  his  legs  to  let  her 
pass  him. 

"  Oh,  how  do  you  do  ?  I  was  hoping  I  'd  see 
you  about,  somewhere." 

Day  sat  down  again  and  drew  the  robe  across 
her  knees.  Miss  a  chance  to  converse  with  Sir 
George  Porteous  she  would  not. 

"How  do  you  do?"  she  answered  blithely. 
"Isn't  it  cold?" 

"  Beastly.  It  makes  a  fellow  feel  quite  uncom- 
fortable. How  is  your  brother's  leg  ?  "  Sir  George 
queried,  without  the  slightest  apparent  conscious- 
ness that  Rob  was  present  to  speak  for  himself. 

"  Better,  I  hope.  You  are  not  used  up  by  your 
yesterday's  trip  ?  " 

"Used  up?" 

"  Yes.  Tired.  Worn  out,"  Day  explained  labo- 
riously. "We  say  used  up,  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  It 's  an  Americanism.  I  hoped 
1  'd  hear  some.  How  interesting ! "  Sir  George's 
level  voice,  however,  gave  no  evidence  that  the  in- 
terest was  overmastering  his  nerves.  "I  was 
looking  for  you,"  he  added. 


IN  QUEBEC  221 


"Here?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Anywhere.  I  've  just  been  down  to 
the  florist  shop,  not  the  first  florist  shop,  but  the 
second  one,  where  the  pretty  girl  is.  I  thought  I 
might  meet  you  on  the  way.  I  do  seem  to  meet 
you,  you  know,  almost  everywhere  I  stop.  If  you 
are  n't  there,  when  I  come,  you  get  there  just  as  I 
am  leaving.  But  I  wanted  to  see  you,  to-day." 

"  Behold  us !  "  Rob  folded  his  arms  and  smirked 
down  at  Sir  George  who  gazed  back  at  him  in  mani- 
fest bewilderment. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  was  saying.  I  told  you, 
just  at  first,  that  I  was  glad  to  see  you." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  Rob  interposed.  "You 
told  us  'how  do  you  do.'  " 

Again  Sir  George  studied  the  face  before  him. 
Then  he  gave  up  the  riddle  and  turned  to  Day. 

"It  will  be  Christmas,  next  week,"  he  observed. 
Then  he  paused  to  see  how  she  took  the  informa- 
tion. 

She  took  it  calmly. 

"Yes.  We  were  doing  our  Christmas  shop- 
ping, this  morning." 

"And  are  beastly  late  about  getting  home  to 
lunch,"  Rob  added  suggestively. 

"  So  am  I.  I  really  am  quite  hungry. "  Then 
he  turned  back  to  Day.  "I  thought  I  would  give 
a  dinner,"  he  announced. 


222  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

Day  hesitated,  slightly  at  a  loss  as  to  what 
answer  she  was  expected  to  make. 

"A  Christmas  dinner  ?  "  she  said  guardedly. 

"  Yes.  I  like  to  notice  the  day.  It  seems  too 
bad  to  let  it  pass  without  paying  any  attention  to 
it "  Sir  George  spoke  as  if  the  great  World  Holi- 
day were  a  species  of  puppy,  trotting  past  him  in 
the  street.  "  Of  course,  when  a  fellow  is  away  from 
home,  he  can't  do  much  about  it.  Still,  it 's  a  day 
when  one  likes  to  give  the  children  a  good  time, 
and  all  that." 

Day  fell  in  with  his  mood.  She  had  never 
liked  the  man  better  than  now,  in  his  laboured 
effort  to  express  his  sympathy  with  the  real  spirit 
of  the  Christmas  feast. 

"Yes,"  she  said  cordially.  "It  is  the  chil- 
dren's day,  and  they  always  love  it." 

In  his  eagerness,  Sir  George  clasped  his  fur- 
lined  gloves  upon  the  side  of  the  sleigh. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  thought.  I  always  like  to 
make  some  little  chap  happy  on  Christmas,"  he 
assented.  "That's  why  I  am  going  to  give  a 
dinner." 

"How  lovely!  "  Day's  mind,  used  to  East  Side 
missions,  rushed  up  and  down  the  city,  hunting 
slums  to  garnish  Sir  George's  festal  board  with 
shivering,  starving  humanity.  "  Where  are  you 
going  to  have  your  dinner?" 


IN  QUEBEC  223 


"At  the  hotel,  the  Chateau,  you  know." 

Day's  face  expressed  her  surprise.  She  had 
fancied  Sir  George  as  lugging  turkeys  to  the 
slums,  not  lugging  the  slums  bodily  into  the 
candle-lighted,  palm-decked,  orchestra-accom- 
panied glory  of  the  Chateau  dining-room. 

"  Will  they  be  quite  —  quite  —  quite  comfort- 
able there  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  vain  endeavour  to 
convey  to  Sir  George  a  sense  of  the  incongruity 
of  his  details,  without  seeming  to  dash  cold  water 
upon  the  heart  and  core  of  his  plan. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so.  There  's  the  lift," 
Sir  George  explained;  "and  it  's  always  very 
warm. " 

Day  forced  her  laugh  to  express  only  a  cheery 
sympathy. 

"  Whom  are  you  going  to  ask  ?  "  she  questioned. 

Sir  George's  face  beamed  with  a  smile  of  per- 
fect satisfaction. 

"That 's  just  it,"  he  observed.  "I  was  looking 
for  you  to  tell  you  now.  I  thought  I  would  invite 
you  and  your  brother. " 

For  an  instant,  there  was  a  silence.  Then 
gently,  very  gently,  Day  spoke. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Sir  George,  more  sorry  than  I  can 
tell  you;  but  Christinas  is  our  home  day.  We 
could  n't  leave  our  father  and  mother. " 

Sir  George's  face  fell.     Even  in  her  mirth  at 


224  JANET:  HER   WINTER 

being  classed  as  a  little  chap,  Day  pitied  the 
sudden  eclipse  of  his  hopes. 

"  I  am  so  sorry, "  she  repeated. 

Sir  George's  face  brightened. 

"  You  'd  really  like  to  come  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  it  were  possible,"  Day  said  politely. 

"Oh.  Then  make  it  the  week  after,"  he  sug- 
gested, with  more  alertness  than  she  had  ever 
seen  him  show. 

Smiling  still,  Day  shook  her  head. 

"Rob  goes  to  New  York,  after  Christmas.  I 
could  n't  come  without  him. " 

Sir  George's  jaw  was  plainly  sagging.  It  was 
obvious  that  his  swift  changes  of  plan  were  weary- 
ing him. 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to  Rob. 

"  The  twenty-seventh. " 

"Twenty-seventh.  Twenty -fifth. "  Sir  George 
appeared  to  be  performing  a  sum  in  mental  arith- 
metic. "  Then  make  it  the  twenty-sixth. " 

Day  hesitated.  Before  she  could  speak,  Rob 
had  cut  in. 

"All  right,  Sir  George,"  he  said  jovially. 
"Thank  you.  You  can  count  on  us  for  the 
night  after  Christmas." 

Sir  George  nodded  in  obvious  self-approval. 

"1  'm  very  glad,"  he  said.  "I  made  sure  you 
would  enjoy  it.  There  's  another  fellow  I  think 
I'll  ask,  too." 


IN  QUEBEC  225 


"Another  little  chap?"  Day  queried,  with  an 
apparent  innocence  which  wellnigh  wrecked  her 
brother's  gravity. 

"  No ;  he  's  older,  quite  a  man.  I  only  just  met 
him,  yesterday ;  but  I  fancy  he  'd  like  to  come. 
We  '11  have  some  bonbons,  you  know,  and  a  plum 
pudding,  and  make  quite  a  thing  of  it.  Good-by. " 
And  Sir  George  turned  away  and  faced  the  chilly 
blast  sweeping  up  from  the  river  far  below. 

Rob  watched  him,  as  he  rounded  the  corner  by 
the  post  office  and  vanished  out  of  sight.  Then 
he  turned  to  Day. 

"Well,  little  chap,"  he  said;  "we 're  in  for  it 
now.  He  's  a  good  little  fellow,  and  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  disappoint  him.  We  can  only  hope  we 
don't  choke  to  death  at  the  table.  Now  do  go  in 
and  bag  the  last  of  your  shopping,  for  I  can't  live 
much  longer  on  the  anticipations  of  Sir  George's 
Christmas  feast." 

Lunch  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  when  Rob  and 
Day  finally  drove  up  to  the  Leslie  door.  Janet 
had  betaken  herself  back  to  school  long  since, 
and  Mrs.  Argyle  was  invisible.  Accordingly, 
Day  found  it  unexpectedly  easy  to  huddle  her 
bundles  in  her  arms  and  escape  to  her  room, 
unobserved,  before  she  joined  Rob  in  the  aban- 
doned dining-room.  Hungry  and  a  little  tired, 
they  lingered  long  over  their  meal.  When  at 

15 


226  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

last  they  left  the  table  and  went  in  search  of 
their  mother,  they  found  her  in  Rob's  room, 
and  Rob's  half-packed  suitcase  lay  on  his  bed. 

"  Moving  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Rob !     How  you  startled  me !  " 

"  Sorry,  dear.  I  thought  you  'd  have  heard  me 
come  stubbing  in;  but  my  fairy  footfall  must  have 
been  uncommonly  light.  What 's  the  exodus  ?  " 

"We  are  going  to  Montreal  for  Christmas." 

"  The  deuce  we"  are !  " 

"  Yes.  Your  father  telegraphed,  this  morning. 
He  thinks  we  'd  enjoy  the  little  change ;  and  be- 
sides, it  is  better  to  let  the  Leslies  have  the  day  to 
themselves." 

"  Be  thanked !  "  Rob  observed  piously.  "  Day 
and  I  were  discussing  the  little  item  of  Peace 
on  Earth,  just  now,  and  we  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  barring  scalping  knives,  no  Christ- 
mas presents  were  in  order.  I  'in  glad,  though, 
we  '11  be  out  of  the  house. " 

"  What  shall  I  wear,  mother  ?  "  Day  demanded. 

"Just  like  a  girl!"  Rob  made  swift  comment. 
"  I  think  I  'd  wear  a  hat  and  some  boots.  Mamma, 
what  necktie  shall  I  put  on  ?  Meantime,  when  do 
we  go  ?  " 

"  To-night.  He  has  some  plan  for  to-morrow. 
Then  we  shall  be  there  Sunday  and  Monday  and 
Christmas,  and  come  back,  Wednesday  noon,  in 


IN   QUEBEC  227 


time  to  pack  you  off  to  New  York,  the  next 
day." 

"In  time  for  our  dinner  party,"  Rob  corrected 
her.  "We  are  asked  out  to  dinner,  the  twenty- 
sixth." 

"Where?" 

"At  the  Chateau." 

"  By  whom  ?  "  Mrs.  Argyle  looked  a  little 
uneasy. 

"  By  Sir  George  Porteous. " 

"Who  is  he?" 

"Day's  Englishman." 

"  Day,  dear  ? "  Mrs.  Argyle's  two  words  in- 
cluded a  round  dozen  of  unspoken  questions. 

Rob  made  haste  to  reassure  her. 

"  It 's  all  right,  mother.  I  got  acquainted  with 
him,  the  day  I  came  up,  last  October.  Since  then, 
he  's  kept  popping  up  at  every  turn.  He  's  the  fel- 
low we  took  home,  last  night  He  's  a  gentleman, 
really,  a  good  fellow,  only  he  has  n't  any  especial 
brains.  You  need  n't  worry.  I  '11  look  out  for  Day. " 

"  But  a  stranger  ?  "  Mrs.  Argyle  demurred. 

"That's  just  the  point.  He  is  here  alone, 
doesn't  know  a  soul  but  us  and  another  little 
chap."  Rob  paused  to  giggle,  before  he  went 
on,  "  He  's  out  here  to  see  the  world  outside  of 
London,  and  he  hasn't  a  particle  of  sense  about 
getting  at  it,  still  less  about  getting  acquainted. 


228  JANET:   II  Eli    WIN  TEH 

He  's  lonely,  and  it 's  Christmas,  and  he  wants 
to  have  a  party.  He  asked  us  for  Christmas 
night,  on  a  general  theory  that  children  ought 
to  have  a  Christmas  party.'* 

"Oh,  he's  a  child,  then?" 

But  Rob  shook  his  head. 

"No  one  can  tell.  He  looks  like  an  Ancient  of 
Days,  and  he  has  the  pulpy  gray  matter  of  a  six- 
months  babe.  At  least,  he  is  innocent,  and  won't 
be  likely  to  harm  us.  Really,  mother,  if  you  'd 
seen  him,  you  would  n't  have  had  the  heart  to 
refuse.  I  '11  tell  you  about  him,  on  the  train. 
Now  do  relieve  Day's  anxiety  on  the  subject  of 
clothes,  or  she  never  will  get  packed  in  season  to 
get  off." 

But  Day  had  settled  herself  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed. 

"Never  mind  the  clothes,"  she  said.  "I  want 
a  light  frock  for  dinners,  and  I  know  we  '11  go 
to  the  theatre.  Father  always  takes  us.  My 
packing  will  wait;  but  not  Sir  George  Porteous. 
Rob,  do  show  mother  how  he  dangles  his  jaw 
when  he  talks." 

However,  Rob  had  scruples. 

"  Too  late,  Day.  We  've  agreed  to  eat  his  salt, 
and  we  can't  hoot  at  him  any  longer.  All  in 
all,"  he  shook  his  head  again  and  thoughtfully; 
"  I  don't  know  but  we  'd  have  made  a  better  bar- 


IN   QUEBEC  229 


gain,  if  we  had  refused  his  dinner  and  kept  him 
in  stock  as  a  means  of  dismissing  the  blues." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  Rob's  scruples,  Mrs. 
Argyle's  face  was  red  and  teary,  by  the  time  she 
had  heard  all  the  details  of  the  acquaintance  of 
her  children  with  Sir  George  Porteous.  As  she 
rose  to  resume  her  interrupted  packing,  she  was 
ready  to  agree  with  Rob  that  such  a  host  would 
not  be  noxious,  albeit  a  stranger. 

Ronald  was  late  in  coming  up  from  the  Saint 
Paul  Street  office,  that  night.  It  was  later  still 
when  Janet  came  in,  for  she  had  telephoned  to 
her  mother  that  she  had  been  asked  to  dine 
with  a  friend.  They  found  the  house  in  all  the 
flurried  stir  of  the  Argyles'  departure,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  the  flurry,  there  was  no  opportunity 
to  speak  of  penitence,  of  Christmas  peace,  nor  yet 
of  the  plans  for  Sir  George  Porteous's  Christmas 
banquet. 

And  so,  as  it  chanced,  the  holidays  found  the 
four  young  people  still  walking  in  their  separate 
paths. 


230  JANET:   HER    WINTKIl 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

DOWN  in  his  office  in  Saint  Paul  Street,  the 
next  afternoon,  Ronald  started  at  the  speak- 
ing of  his  name,  and  turned  around  on  his  high 
stool. 

"  What 's  the  row  ?  "  he  asked,  for  the  face  of 
his  fellow  clerk  was  red  with  suppressed  merri- 
ment. 

"A  fellow  to  see  you." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"Down  in  the  shop.  You'll  find  him  out 
among  the  stoves." 

"You  need  n't  be  so  hilarious  about  it,"  Ronald 
said  indolently,  as  he  slid  off  from  his  stool  and 
shook  himself  into  presentable  condition.  "Who- 
ever the  fellow  is,  he  's  my  joke,  not  yours. "  And, 
his  rebuke  offered,  he  went  tramping  down  the 
staircase  which  led  from  the  offices  into  the  long 
suite  of  shops  below. 

In  the  extreme  corner  of  the  farthest  one,  he 
found  Sir  George  Portcous.  Sir  George  was  im- 
maculately groomed,  and,  thanks  to  a  mild  day,  his 
buttonhole  was  appropriately  garnished.  Seated 


IN  QUEBEC  231 


on  one  of  the  low  stoves,  his  hands  lightly  crossed 
upon  his  knee,  he  presented  every  appearance  of 
having  come  to  stay  throughout  the  afternoon,  if 
not  to  take  up  his  permanent  abode  among  the 
stoves  around  him.  Ronald  hailed  him  from  the 
doorway. 

"How  do,  Sir  George!  So  you  have  decided  to 
make  us  a  visit. " 

Sir  George  looked  up  at  him  with  a  lack-lustre 
eye. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  merely  came  to  see  you. " 

"  That 's  good !  What  if  I  show  you  about  the 
place  ? " 

Sir  George  hitched  himself  into  a  more  perma- 
nent pose  upon  his  cast-iron  pedestal. 

"I  am  quite  comfortable,  thank  you.  I  came 
of  an  errand." 

"To  see  the  chief?"  Ronald  queried,  for  Sir 
George  made  no  effort  to  impart  to  him  the  sub- 
ject of  any  errand,  and,  quite  naturally,  he  sought 
about  in  his  mind  to  discover  to  whom  else  the 
errand  would  be  directed. 

"No;  to  see  you,"  Sir  George  made  tranquil 
reply.  Then  once  more  he  fell  silent. 

Ronald  waited,  waited  with  one  lobe  of  his 
brain  trained  upon  the  probable  future  actions 
of  Sir  George  Porteous,  the  other  upon  certain 
letters  which  must  be  sent  out  by  that  evening's 


232  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

mail.  Mercifully,  however,  the  mail  did  not  close 
until  half  after  eleven,  so  there  was  still  time  for 
the  deliberate  mental  processes  of  Sir  George 
Porteous.  Ronald  shifted  his  weight  to  the  other 
foot;  then  he  evened  his  weight  and  stood  at 
attention. 

"I  am  giving  a  dinner,"  Sir  George  announced 
at  length. 

Like  Day  Argyle,  Ronald  found  himself  at  a 
loss  as  to  how  he  was  expected  to  meet  the 
announcement. 

"  How  interesting!"  he  observed  dispassionately. 

"Yes.  I  thought  it  would  be  interesting.  It 
will  be  a  Christmas  dinner." 

Ronald  forced  himself  to  smile  cheerily. 

"  What  a  good  idea ! "  he  responded. 

"  Yes.  It  is  so  tiresome  not  to  pay  any  atten- 
tion to  the  day.  This  will  not  be  on  Christmas, 
exactly.  It  will  be  on  the  night  after." 

Ronald  felt  his  stock  of  polite  phrases  running 
short. 

"Oh,"  he  assented  courteously. 

Sir  George  mistook  his  brevity  for  disapproval, 
not  for  paucity  of  ideas.  He  sought  to  justify 
himself. 

"They  could  n't  come  on  Christmas.  They  had 
to  stop  at  home,"  he  explained.  "I  am  asking 
some  children,  you  know." 


IN  QUEBEC  233 


"Then  you  do  know  people  here  in  Quebec  ?  " 

"Only  some  children."  Sir  George  spoke  as 
if  the  weight  of  centuries  rested  upon  his  slim 
shoulders.  "  And  that 's  what  I  came  down  here 
for  —  really,  it 's  a  beastly  way  —  to  ask  you  if 
you  would  come  and  dine,  too." 

Ronald  looked  slightly  startled. 

"  Oh ;  but  I  'm  no  good  at  amusing  children, 
Sir  George,"  he  demurred. 

Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"I  expect  to  amuse  them,  myself,"  he  said, 
with  a  grave  unconsciousness  of  his  own  ade- 
quacy to  perform  that  function. 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  of  me  ?  "  Ronald 
queried. 

"Why,  to  eat,  of  course,"  Sir  George  made 
cannibalistic  reply.  "It  will  be  at  the  Chaieau 
at  seven,  the  night  after  Christmas.  There  will 
be  games  in  the  drawing-room  afterwards.  You  '11 
let  me  count  on  you  ?  There  are  not  so  many 
people  here  in  town  that  I  know,"  he  added,  with 
an  unconscious  note  of  pathos  which  smote  re- 
bukingly  upon  Ronald's  ear. 

"I'll  come,  thanks,"  he  responded  cheerily; 
"I'll  make  a  point  of  being  there.  At  seven, 
you  say  ? " 

But  Sir  George  had  lapsed  into  silence  again, 
and  sat  with  his  jaw  drooping,  his  eyes  fixed 


234  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

upon  the  hearth  of  the  opposite  stove.  Once  more 
Ronald's  mind  flashed  up  the  stairs  to  his  aban- 
doned desk,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  swift  desire 
to  kindle  a  fire  and  turn  on  the  draughts  in  the 
stove  beneath  his  tranquil  guest. 

"I  say,  you  haven't  anyone  you  could  bring; 
have  you  ?  Any  woman  ?  "  Sir  George  queried 
suddenly. 

With  marvellous  swiftness,  Ronald  regained 
his  mental  poise. 

"My  mother  is  not  going  out,  just  now,"  he 
replied. 

"Oh;  but  she  would  be  quite  too  old,"  Sir 
George  rejoined.  "  Who  else  ?  " 

"  Who  else  what  ?  "  Ronald  made  blank  answer. 

"  Who  else  could  come  ?  " 

"But  she  couldn't." 

"Of  course  not.  You  said  so.  But  who  else 
could  ?  "  Sir  George  asked,  with  accentless  per- 
sistency. 

"I  have  a  young  sister,"  Ronald  suggested 
dubiously.  "  She  is  n't  out  yet.  In  fact,  she  is 
only  a  child.  And  —  " 

"She'll  do,"  Sir  George  said  placidly.  Then 
he  rose  from  his  pedestal  and,  without  another 
word,  smoothed  his  gloves,  grasped  his  stick  and 
moved  away  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

For  the  next  three  days,  Janet  Leslie  gave  her- 


IN  QUEBEC  235 


self  over  to  unmitigated  gloatings  over  the  pro- 
spective feast.  According  to  the  fashion  of  young 
girlhood,  granted  a  dinner  and  the  fact  of  her 
being  bidden,  she  cared  little  who  was  the  host, 
or  who  her  fellow  guests.  A  dinner  at  the 
Chateau  seemed  to  her  a  grown-up  function,  full 
of  mysterious  possibilities  for  all  sorts  of  ele- 
gance, and  she  repined  in  secret  over  the  fact 
that  her  only  possible  costume  must  be  the  plain 
black  cloth  frock  which  did  duty  for  Sunday  morn- 
ing church.  Janet's  ideals  would  have  included 
a  sky-blue  frock  cut  low  and  a  nodding  plume  in 
her  hair.  She  knew  her  mother  too  well,  how- 
ever, to  suggest  such  dreams  to  Mrs.  Leslie's 
unresponsive  ear.  In  fact,  it  had  taken  some 
coaxing  and  much  telephonic  intercourse  with 
Ronald's  chief  to  coerce  Mrs.  Leslie  into  allowing 
Janet  to  accept  the  invitation  in  the  first  place. 

The  invitation  once  accepted,  however,  Janet 
gave  herself  over  unreservedly  to  her  golden 
dreams,  and  her  mother,  watching,  forbore  to 
check  her  young  daughter's  imagination.  Truth 
to  tell,  Christmas  would  be  a  dreary  little  func- 
tion in  the  Leslie  household,  that  year;  and,  Mrs. 
Leslie's  maternal  fears  regarding  Sir  George  once 
allayed,  she  herself  was  ready  to  welcome  this 
addition  to  the  meagre  Christmas  pleasures  she 
had  been  able  to  arrange. 


236  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

By  dint  of  careful  economy  and  much  planning, 
by  help  of  Ronald's  slender  salary  and  the  board- 
money  of  the  Argyles,  the  Leslies  could  face  the 
new  year  with  a  clean  sheet  of  accounts.  True, 
it  had  meant  the  invasion  of  their  home  by  an 
alien  family;  it  had  meant  the  giving  up  to 
others  their  pleasantest  rooms;  it  had  meant  a 
scrimping  behind  the  scenes  to  make  up  for  the 
apparent  lavishness  of  the  table,  for  the  Argyles 
were  hungry  folk,  and  dainty  withal,  and  only  a 
small  share  of  their  money  could  go  towards  the 
general  fund.  Mrs.  Leslie's  hair  had  whitened 
beneath  the  strain,  her  brows  had  framed  them- 
selves in  wrinkles.  Nevertheless,  the  old  year 
would  leave  them  free  from  debt,  and  the  new 
year  could  bring  them  no  harder  problems  than 
those  she  had  so  lately  faced.  Looking  to  the 
past  half-year,  her  mood  was  all  of  thankfulness 
that  they  had  gone  through  it  and  come  out  so 
well.  And  yet,  she  would  so  have  loved  to  be 
able  to  make  the  Christmas  merry  for  her  two 
children.  Her  third  child,  a  daughter  married 
and  living  in  the  States,  was  out  of  all  this 
worry.  In  the  midst  of  her  general  thanks- 
giving, Mrs.  Leslie  found  time  to  rejoice  in  the 
joyous  letters  which  had  come  to  her,  every  week 
since  her  daughter's  marriage,  in  early  October. 

To  Janet,  the   Argyles'   sudden  departure  for 


IN  QUEBEC  237 


Montreal  had  brought  a  mood  of  mingled  joy  and 
woe.  It  was  a  relief  to  escape  for  a  few  days  out 
of  the  atmosphere  of  smothered  war,  to  be  able  to 
laugh  and  gossip  and  to  make  merry  with  Ronald 
over  their  meals.  It  was  also  a  relief  not  to  have 
to  sit  by  and  watch  Day's  overflowing  delight  in 
the  rich  Christmas  gifts  which  were  bound  to  fall 
to  her  share.  Janet  Leslie,  as  a  rule,  was  above 
all  petty  envy  ings.  Nevertheless,  she  was  human, 
and  not  quite  fifteen.  The  darn  in  the  front  breadth 
of  her  every-day  gown  had  never  been  quite  so  man- 
ifest as  on  the  night  when  Day  came  down  to  din- 
ner in  her  new  tailor-made  frock  of  Argyle  plaid, 
with  its  kilted  skirt  and  its  wealth  of  thistle  but- 
tons. And,  when  she  walked  home  from  church 
to  save  her  streetcar  fare,  it  was  exasperating  to 
have  to  smile  blithely  in  answer  to  Rob's  hat, 
lifted  from  a  passing  sleigh  where  he  and  Day  sat 
enthroned  in  a  warm  nest  of  furs.  Day  cast  aside 
her  Dent  gloves  at  the  first  rubbing  of  the  fingers. 
Janet  darned  her  woollen  mittens,  and  then  darned 
the  darns.  And  the  time  was  not  so  very  remote 
when  she  too  had  worn  Dent  gloves  and  driven  in 
a  fur-heaped  sleigh.  And  the  girls  at  school  did 
pity  her,  and  show  their  pity,  too.  The  mother  of 
one  of  them  had  even  offered  Mrs.  Leslie  an  out- 
grown coat.  The  coat  was  trimmed  with  lamb, 
and  it  fitted.  Mrs.  Leslie  had  accepted  it  with 


238  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

quiet  gratitude.  It  now  hung  on  a  nail  in  the 
garret,  and  Janet  wore  her  last-year  one.  It  was 
dyed,  and  frayed  on  the  cuffs,  and  narrow  about 
the  shoulder-blades.  Nevertheless,  it  was  her 
very  own,  not  the  offering  of  a  benevolent,  but 
tactless  charity.  It  was  her  own,  and  she  would 
wear  it  till  water  ran  in  the  spring.  She  stated 
her  resolution  valiantly,  and  Ronald  upheld  her 
in  it.  Mrs.  Leslie  made  no  comment;  but  she 
felt  a  slight  uneasiness,  as  she  bethought  herself 
of  the  dainty  little  fur-lined  jacket  which  Mrs. 
Argyle  had  left  in  her  keeping,  when  she  went 
up  to  Montreal. 

"I  was  getting  one  like  it  for  Day,"  she  had 
explained ;  "  and  I  really  could  n't  resist  this.  I 
am  fond  of  Janet,  you  know ;  she  is  such  a  plucky 
little  woman."  And  her  parting  kiss  to  Janet 
had  given  proof  of  her  words. 

Janet,  her  cheek  still  warm  with  the  kiss,  her 
ears  still  ringing  with  Rob's  off-hand  farewell, 
was  surprised  to  find  how  still  and  empty  the 
house  seemed  to  her,  after  the  stir  of  their  going. 
Rob  and  Day  had  been  late  to  two  meals,  that 
day ;  she  herself  had  been  absent  from  the  third. 
Accordingly,  she  had  not  seen  them  since  her 
talk  with  Ronald  of  the  night  before,  and  she 
had  been  altogether  relieved  when  her  mother's 
news  of  the  trip  to  Montreal  had  made  it  plainly 


IN  QUEBEC  239 


evident  that  her  dreaded  apology  must  be  post- 
poned. She  had  expected  to  find  unmixed  pleas- 
ure in  the  sight  of  the  Argyle  backs.  Instead  of 
that,  the  house  seemed  dull  and  a  bit  lonesome. 

To  the  young  Leslies,  Christmas  passed  quietly, 
with  simple  gifts  and  simpler  feastings.  To  the 
young  Argyles,  it  was  a  round  of  merry-making, 
gifts  and  goodies  abounding,  a  long  drive  to  make 
appetite  for  the  elaborate  dinner,  and  the  theatre 
to  wind  up  the  day.  It  had  been  late,  that  night, 
when  Rob  and  his  sister  had  started  to  their 
rooms;  but,  even  then,  they  had  lingered  long 
in  the  hall  outside  their  doors,  talking  over  the 
jolliest  Christmas  they  had  ever  spent.  Never- 
theless, no  trace  of  sleepiness  was  in  Day's  eyes, 
the  next  night,  as  she  stood  before  the  glass, 
dressing  herself  for  Sir  George's  dinner. 

In  the  eyes  of  grown-up  womanhood,  the  dress 
of  a  young  girl  is  a  simple  thing  and  of  small 
account.  The  girl  herself  is  of  a  wholly  different 
impression.  Day,  screwing  herself  about  to  reach 
the  hooks  on  the  back  of  her  yoke,  shaking  her 
shoulders  to  settle  the  yoke  into  place,  tying  her 
wide  silk  sash,  then  turning  it  around  into  its 
proper  place  and  softly  patting  it  into  position, 
before  clasping  her  beads  around  her  neck ;  Day, 
adding  the  final  touch  of  the  brush  and  giving 
a  last  cock  to  the  ribbon  on  her  hair,  was  as 


240  JANET:   HER    WINTIIR 

earnest,  as  absorbed  in  the  process  of  beautify- 
ing herself  as  was  ever  a  bud  on  the  eve  of  her 
first  reception.  And,  after  all,  the  gown  was 
only  a  plain  white  cloth  with  a  little  lace  tucker 
which  came  softly  about  the  base  of  her  round 
young  throat;  the  beads  were  only  cairngorms 
set  in  silver,  the  gift  of  her  grandmother  far  off 
in  Scotland.  The  whole  costume,  though  the  work 
of  skilful  hands,  was  simple  and  girlish  as  the  happy 
face  above  it.  Nevertheless,  Rob,  coming  into  the 
room  and  halting  at  her  side,  bowed  low  in  ad- 
miration half-mocking,  half-sincere. 

"Lovely  vision!"  ho  observed.  "I  like  your 
shoes  best;  they're  so  nice  and  shiny.  Would 
that  gown  smash,  if  I  hugged  you  ?  " 

"Try  it  and  see,"  she  dared  him. 

But  he  backed  off  and  brandished  his  stick. 

"  Not  much !  You  would  muss  up  my  curls. 
Does  my  coat-tail  hang  right,  and  is  my  necktie 
becoming  ? "  Gravely  he  turned  himself  about 
for  approval,  while  Day  mocked  at  him,  though 
all  the  time  convinced  that  few  girls,  Canadian 
or  American,  could  produce  so  desirable  a 
brother. 

"What  do  you  suppose  is  the  row  with  the 
Leslies  ? "  Rob  asked,  tranquilly  dropping  into 
a  chair,  as  soon  as  the  inspection  was  ended. 

Day   had   been   giving  all   her   attention  to  a 


IN  QUEBEC  241 


refractory  lock  of  hair.  Now  she  faced  about 
suddenly. 

"  Is  Janet  on  her  nerves  again  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"Not  nerves,  exactly;  at  least,  not  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  She  is  on  the  rampage,  though, 
about  something.  She  and  Ronald  appear  to  be 
going  out  somewhere  together.  She  has  been 
stamping  around  her  room  until  I  was  afraid 
she  would  land  down  on  my  head  through  the 
ceiling.  Once  she  came  to  the  door  and  be- 
sought somebody  to  come  and  hook  up  her  back, 
whatever  that  may  mean." 

"It  probably  means  she  couldn't  reach  it,  her- 
self," Day  interpreted  calmly,  as  she  patted  her 
own  yoke  into  more  perfect  adjustment.  "  Where 
is  Ronald  ?  " 

"In  his  room,  pumping  his  bureau  drawers  in 
and  out  as  if  he  mistook  them  for  an  accordeon. 
His  nerves  are  getting  on  him,  I  'ni  afraid.  He 
came  in  late,  and  took  the  stairs  four  at  a  time, 
shouting  to  Janet  to  hurry,  or  they  'd  be  late.  It 
must  be  a  citadel  ball,  at  the  very  least,  to  in- 
spire so  much  prinking.  It 's  a  great  thing  to  be 
a  born  Quebecker.  There  's  the  carriage,  ma'am. 
Where  's  your  cloak  ?  "  And  he  rose  with  the 
little  deference  which  he  showed,  first  of  all,  to 
the  women  of  his  own  family. 

In  a  snug  little  den  at  the  northern  end  of  the 
16 


242  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

long  chain  of  drawing-rooms  they  found  Sir  George 
awaiting  them,  an  impressive  and  elegant  Sir 
George,  whose  manner  seemed  to  have  gained 
starch  from  the  vast  expanse  of  his  evening  linen. 
Even  to  Day's  uncritical  eye,  he  looked  unneces- 
sarily black  and  white,  against  the  ruby-coloured 
room,  whose  plain  red  walls  were  dotted  thickly 
with  English  racing  prints.  One  table  in  a  corner 
was  heaped  with  games,  flanked  by  a  tray  of  bon- 
bons which  obviously  held  cracker  caps  beneath 
their  gilt  and  silver  rolls.  The  other  table  held  a 
vast  bran  pie,  surrounded  by  sundry  knobby  parcels 
which  had  defied  Sir  George's  efforts  to  pack  them 
within  his  Christmas  pastry. 

Sir  George  came  forward  to  meet  them  hospi- 
tably, albeit  his  face  showed  misgivings. 

"Oh,  I  say,  how  do  you  do?"  he  said.  "  How 
rummy  you  both  look  !  But  I  fancy  you  're  too 
early." 

"  You  said  seven  ;  did  n't  you  ?  "  Rob  asked,  as  he 
crumpled  Sir  George's  fingers  in  his  grasp. 

"  Yes ;  but  the  other  fellow  is  n't  here  yet.  It 's 
ten  to,  now.  He  '11  be  here  soon,  I  fancy.  I  told 
him  he'd  better  bring  his  sister.  I  thought  you 
would  have  a  better  time,  if  I  asked  another  girl," 
he  added,  turning  to  Day. 

"  Thank  you.  It  will  be  better,"  she  assented 
politely.  "  What  a  lovely  room  !  " 


IN  QUEBEC  243 


"  Yes.  I  told  the  fellow  in  the  office  that  I  must 
have  it,  for  to-night.  It  will  be  good  for  the  games, 
you  know  ;  and  I  can  tell  you  stories  about  the  pic- 
tures, by  and  by.  That 's  how  we  hunt  in  England, 
you  know,"  Sir  George  explained,  with  unwonted 
energy. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  Day  replied,  as  she  crossed 
the  room  to  look  at  a  print  on  the  opposite  wall. 
"  Look,  Rob  !  That 's  just  the  way  it  was  at  Cops- 
ley  Heath.  I  was  in  England  once,"  she  added, 
facing  about  to  include  their  host  in  the  talk. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  fancy  not,"  he  returned,  with  astound- 
ing irrelevance.  "  By  George,  here  comes  the  other 
fellow,  now !  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  stepped  forward  to  greet  his  be- 
lated guests,  while,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
Rob  and  Day  waited,  Rob's  yellow  hair  and  Day's 
white  frock  standing  out  sharply  against  the  deep 
red  background.  Steps  sounded  in  the  hall,  a  uni- 
formed boy  led  the  way  to  the  door,  then  moved 
aside  to  allow  the  guests  to  pass  in  before  him. 
An  instant  later,  Sir  George  was  shaking  hands 
with  Ronald  Leslie  and  Janet. 

The  silence  which  followed,  utter,  profound  and  of 
absolute  stupefaction,  was  weighted  with  a  meaning 
too  strong  for  any  words.  Janet  stared  at  Rob, 
Day  at  Ronald,  while  Sir  George  Porteous  stared 
at  all  four  of  them  in  turn,  stared  and  smiled  hi 


244  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

pleased  contentment  with  the  scene.  Then,  just 
as  the  pause  was  growing  too  long  for  Sir  George's 
perfect  pleasure,  just  as  there  was  dawning  upon  him 
the  need  to  break  it,  Rob  rallied  from  his  stupefac- 
tion and  dashed  forward  to  meet  the  emergency. 

"  Hullo,  old  man  ! "  he  hailed  Ronald,  with  dis- 
respectful cordiality.  "  Delighted  to  see  you  !  We 
had  no  notion  that  you  were  coming,  too.  Hullo, 
Janet !  How  stunning  you  look !  I  speak  to  take 
you  out  to  dinner."  Then,  smiling  broadly,  he 
turned  upon  Sir  George.  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell 
us,"  he  demanded  of  his  astonished  host;  "why 
did  n't  you  tell  us  that  you  were  going  to  treat  us 
to  a  family  party  ? " 

And,  in  the  burst  of  half-hysterical  mirth  which 
followed  on  Rob's  words,  Sir  George  Porteous  lost 
hts  final  fears  for  the  success  of  his  Christmas 
feast. 


IN  QUEBEC  245 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

LATE  the  next  afternoon,  Rob  found  himself 
sliding  away  to  the  southward  through  the 
snow-heaped  Townships.  His  departure  had  sa- 
voured of  a  diminutive  ovation.  Sir  George  had 
come  sauntering  up  from  the  Chateau  in  time  to 
see  the  sleigh  drive  away  from  the  door,  Ronald 
had  left  his  office  stool  long  enough  to  dash 
around  to  the  ferry-house  for  a  farewell  handclasp, 
and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  Day  had  gone  across 
with  him  and  seen  him  settled  in  his  car.  Most  of 
all,  though,  Rob  had  cared  for  Janet's  tempestuous 
farewell.  Invisible  at  lunch,  she  had  remained  in- 
visible until  the  sleigh  was  at  the  door.  Then, 
just  as  Rob  had  picked  up  his  suitcase  for  the 
third  time,  she  had  come  rushing  down  the  stairs. 

"  Good-by,  you  nice  old  thing  ! "  she  said  un- 
steadily. "  And  be  sure  you  come  back  soon,  able 
to  take  me  snow-shoeing."  And,  as  she  spoke, 
she  had  crowded  a  little  note  into  Rob's  hand,  out- 
stretched in  farewell. 

The  note  was  in  his  hand  now.  A  vague  respect 
for  Janet's  dumb  mood  had  kept  him  from  show- 


246  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

ing  it  to  Day,  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  come  in 
from  the  rear  platform  and  the  little  gray-coated 
figure  had  vanished  from  sight,  that  he  had 
opened  it  and  read  the  penitent,  girlish  words 
within.  For  a  moment,  he  had  sat  with  his  eyea 
fixed  unseeingly  upon  the  ice-filled  river  and  the 
frozen  cone  of  Montmorency  beyond.  Then,  turn- 
ing about,  he  had  hailed  the  conductor. 

"  Oh,  it 's  you ;  is  it  ?  "  he  said  cheerily.  "  I  'ra 
in  luck  to  find  you  again.  But  tell  me,  can  I  send 
a  telegram  back  from  one  of  these  metropolises  ?" 

And  Janet  went  to  bed,  that  night,  with  peace 
in  her  conscience  and  Rob's  telegram  beneath  her 
pillow. 

Rob,  meanwhile,  had  sat  long,  staring  down  at 
the  little  note  in  his  hand,  reading  between  its  few 
short  lines  the  things  that  Janet  would  not  say. 
It  had  not  been  easy  for  her  to  write  that  note. 
Of  so  much  he  was  certain.  Under  her  demure 
exterior,  she  was  high-spirited,  imperious,  a  bit 
unyielding.  Rob  shook  his  head  to  himself.  The 
note  had  been  inspired  by  conscience ;  that  was 
evident.  Would  her  conscience,  however,  have 
been  so  active,  had  she  not  liked  him  in  the  first 
place  ?  Rob  adored  Day.  He  also  liked  Janet, 
and  he  was  surprised  to  find  how  anxious  he  was 
to  hold  her  liking  in  return.  Her  very  quickness 
won  his  admiration,  and  matched  something  which 


IN   QUEBEC  247 


at  times  came  uppermost  in  his  own  mood.  With 
Day  first  and  foremost  in  his  heart  and  life  and 
interests,  he  yet  had  room  in  his  affection  for 
Janet,  and  he  rejoiced  unfeignedly,  now  that  the 
long  feud  was  ended.  Two  weeks  in  New  York, 
and  then  they  would  slip  back  into  their  old  good 
times  ! 

Viewed  in  the  light  of  the  previous  evening  and 
of  his  hearty  good-by,  even  Ronald  seemed  more 
attractive,  more  interesting  and  infinitely  more 
alive.  It  had  been  Ronald,  the  night  before,  who 
had  rushed  into  the  breach  at  Rob's  heels.  Sir 
George,  blandly  unconscious  that  anything  had 
ever  been  amiss,  was  fussing  about  the  table  where 
his  Christmas  pie  was  baking,  and  the  two  girls 
had  been  as  if  stricken  dumb.  It  was  upon  Rob 
and  Ronald,  then,  that  the  stress  of  the  next  ten 
minutes  had  fallen,  and  Ronald  had  played  his 
part  like  a  man,  played  it  so  valiantly  that,  by 
the  time  the  waiter  came  to  announce  the  dinner, 
the  last  of  the  ice  had  melted,  and  an  hilarious, 
wholly  friendly  quartette  had  followed  Sir  George 
down  the  great  dining-room  to  the  table  spread 
before  the  fire-place  at  the  farther  end.  Later,  too, 
much  later,  it  had  been  Ronald,  quiet  and  digni- 
fied no  longer,  who  had  assisted  Sir  George  in  the 
carving  of  the  Christmas  pie. 

Even  now,   Rob   could  scarcely  trust   his  own 


248  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

memory,  as  he  recalled  the  droll  and  freakish 
comments  with  which  the  tall  Canadian  had  drawn 
forth  the  odd  assortment  of  budgets  from  within. 
For  the  hour,  Rob  had  been  quite  willing  to  watch 
the  course  of  events  from  a  back  seat.  Up  to  then, 
he  had  had  no  notion  that  Ronald  Leslie's  mind 
held  any  trace  of  skittish  humour.  Now  he  began 
to  doubt.  And,  in  the  intervals,  he  watched  Janet 
whose  plain  black  frock  and  demure  manner  were 
powerless  to  conceal  her  overflowing  spirits.  Later 
still,  Rob  had  gone  to  the  piano  and  pounded  out 
a  rag-time  melody,  linked  to  strange,  sad  chords 
that  moaned  away  among  the  bass,  and  the  little 
red  room  had  echoed  with  laughter  at  Day's  efforts 
to  teach  Sir  George  to  dance  with  the  American 
ease  and  swing.  The  laughter  was  still  in  the  air, 
when  the  Argyles'  sleigh  had  been  announced  ;  and 
it  had  been  at  Ronald's  suggestion,  not  Rob's,  that 
they  had  packed  themselves  into  it,  Sir  George  and 
all,  and  gone  for  a  moonlight  turn  out  the  Grande 
Allde  and  home  again  by  Saint  John  Street.  It 
was  late  for  the  girls ;  but  what  matter  ?  Such 
things  happen  only  once  a  year;  perhaps,  in  all 
their  details,  only  once  a  lifetime.  And  Janet  had 
sat  on  her  brother's  knee,  and  Sir  George  had 
been  huddled  down  on  the  floor  of  the  sleigh  among 
all  their  feet ;  and  the  very  moon  had  laughed, 
gazing  down  upon  the  merry  load  of  youngsters, 


IN  QUEBEC  249 


as  they  went  driving  away  out  of  the  Chateau 
court. 

And  now,  as  the  early  twilight  cast  its  long  blue 
shadows  across  the  snow,  Rob  was  sliding  south- 
ward, and  the  old  gray  city  on  the  cliff  was  grow- 
ing vague  as  the  shadow  of  a  happy  dream. 

"  You  Ve  had  enough  of  winter  ?  " 

Rob  glanced  up.  The  Pullman  conductor,  his 
duties  done,  was  sitting  down  in  the  section  across 
the  aisle. 

"  No ;  worse  luck  !    I  hate  to  leave  it." 

"  And  you  have  to  ?  " 

"  I  must.     I  'm  in  for  two  weeks  of  the  doctor." 

"  Not  worse  ?  "  Both  voice  and  eyes  were  wholly 
kind. 

"  No ;  better,  a  good  deal.  I  've  gained,  ever 
since  I  went  up  there.  My  man  told  me  to  come 
back  to  him  for  some  more  treatment,  and  I  'm 
bound  to  go.  I  hate  it,  though." 

"You  like  the  place?" 

"  New  York  ?  "  Rob  queried. 

"  No ;  of  course,  one  likes  that.    I  mean  Quebec." 

Rob  recalled  his  glance  from  the  row  of  coon- 
coated  habitants  on  the  platform  of  a  wayside  sta- 
tion, and  gave  terse  answer. 

"  I  adore  it." 

His  companion  laughed. 

"  We  don't  often  hear  you  Americans  speak  so 


250  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

warmly  of  us.  We  like  it,  too.  By  the  way,  do 
you  remember  the  Englishman  I  carried  down,  the 
day  you  came  ?  " 

"  Down  ? "  Rob  echoed  blankly. 

"  Down  to  Quebec.  I  mean  the  fellow  with  the 
accent  and  the  luggage.  I  met  him  in  the  street, 
the  other  night." 

Rob  nodded. 

"  He 's  still  there  ;  I  've  seen  him  often.  He  is 
a  living  joke ;  but  he  's  done  me  one  or  two  good 
turns."  And,  as  the  conductor  rose  to  go  his  busy 
way,  Rob  lost  himself  in  wondering  what  was  hap- 
pening, just  then,  inside  the  Leslie  home. 

Supper  was  happening  just  then  ;  and,  quite  nat- 
urally, the  conversation  was  following  the  traveller 
to  the  southward.  Mrs.  Argyle  was  full  of  talk 
and  of  maternal  worries ;  but  Day  was  uncommonly 
still.  It  seemed  so  strange,  when  she  raised  her 
eyes  from  her  plate,  not  to  find  Rob's  yellow  head 
opposite  her,  not  to  meet  the  laugh  in  his  honest, 
keen  blue  eyes.  She  wondered  if  he  would  find  the 
good-night  letter  she  had  tucked  into  a  corner  of 
his  suitcase,  folded  in  the  tissue-paper  nightcap 
which  she  had  brought  away  from  Sir  George's  party. 

As  she  left  the  table,  and  started  up  the  stairs  to 
her  own  room,  uncertain  whether  to  read  one  of 
her  Christmas  books,  or  to  indulge  in  a  good,  com- 
fortable cry,  Ronald  hailed  her  from  below. 


7iV  QUEBEC  251 


"  Whither  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Upstairs." 

"  But  why  ?  Come  and  frolic  on  the  terrace  with 
Janet  and  me.  There  's  a  splendid  moon." 

His  accent  was  inviting ;  his  smile  was  more  so. 
Day's  step  stayed  itself. 

"  Are  you  sure  you  want  me  ?  "  she  asked  irres- 
olutely. 

"  Sure.     Else  we  'd  not  be  asking  you." 

Day  took  swift  note  of  the  friendly  tact  which 
had  included  Janet  in  the  invitation.  Then  she 
sent  a  thought  hurrying  after  Rob,  a  hasty  wonder 
whether  he  could  count  it  disloyal  to  him  that,  the 
moment  he  was  away  from  her,  she  should  so  nat- 
urally turn  to  Ronald  for  companionship.  Then 
scornfully  she  dismissed  the  wonder.  By  this  time, 
Rob  knew  her  too  well  to  doubt  her  loyalty.  Had 
the  past  two  months  existed  solely  for  the  purpose 
of  welding  the  brother  and  sister  together,  they 
would  yet  have  been  worth  the  while.  Rob  gone, 
there  was  no  especial  sense  in  her  shutting  herself 
up  to  pindle  and  pine  over  his  absence. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.     "  I  '11  go." 

Half  the  Quebec  world  was  out  upon  the  terrace, 
that  night.  From  far  up  on  the  glacis  beneath  the 
King's  Bastion,  the  long  toboggan  slide  stretched 
steeply  down,  then  cut  its  level  way  across  the  ter- 
race to  the  very  feet  of  the  Sieur  de  Champlain  at 


252  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

the  northern  end.  Between  the  gleaming  chains  of 
electric  lights,  the  double  lines  of  toboggans  were 
charging  down  the  slope  and  out  upon  the  level 
course  below,  while,  from  the  gay  groups  mounting 
the  steps  or  gathered  waiting  at  the  top  of  the 
slides,  light  talk  and  laughter  came  floating  down 
to  mingle  with  the  strident  buzz  of  the  toboggans 
and  the  shriller  cries  of  their  excited  freight.  Along 
the  surface  of  the  wide,  ice-dotted  river  beneath, 
long  banners  of  white  trailed  down  from  the  lights 
of  Levis.  Far  down  the  northern  channel,  the 
clustered  dots  of  light  marked  the  foot  of  Mont- 
morency  Falls,  while,  faint  in  the  purple  distance, 
yet  another  huddle  of  lights  showed  the  spot  where 
the  faithful,  even  in  the  heart  of  winter,  keep  watch 
and  ward  over  the  sacred  shrine  of  the  Good  Saintc 
Anne.  And  above  it  all,  more  dazzling  than  all, 
the  round  white  winter  moon  rode  proudly  upward 
across  a  cloud-flecked  sky. 

Six  times,  Ronald  brought  his  toboggan  to  the 
top  of  the  slide  and  settled  the  two  girls  comfort- 
ably in  their  places.  Six  times,  they  made  the 
breathless,  swooping  flight  downward,  the  long, 
ecstatic  course  out  across  the  level.  Six  times, 
their  ears  drummed  with  the  grinding  hum  of  the 
toboggan,  their  pulses  beat  with  the  thrill  of  excite- 
ment, their  cheeks  glowed  with  the  impact  of  the 
cold,  still  air.  Then,  as  the  toboggan  slowly  lost 


IN  QUEBEC  253 


its  impetus  and  came  to  a  halt,  Janet,  springing  to 
her  feet,  was  surrounded  with  an  eager  group  of 
her  schoolmates. 

"  Come  down  with  us,"  they  begged. 

Janet  shook  her  head. 

"Just  this  once,"  they  pleaded. 

Janet  spoke  to  Ronald ;  hut  she  looked  at  Day. 

"  Would  you  mind  so  very  much  ? "  she  asked 
dubiously. 

Ronald  laughed. 

"  Glad  to  have  you.  It  will  give  us  just  so  much 
more  room.  Come,  Day,  we  '11  race  them  to  the 
top  of  the  slide."  And  presently  they  were  once 
more  skimming  the  surface  of  the  terrace,  past  the 
bandstand,  past  the  guns,  past  the  entrance  to  the 
Chateau  court,  and  on  and  on  until  Ronald  steered 
the  toboggan  sharply  to  one  side,  to  avoid  hitting 
the  rail  at  the  extreme  northern  end  of  the  terrace. 

Day  laughed,  as  she  scrambled  to  her  feet. 

"  The  farthest  yet ! "  she  commented.  "  It  is  such 
glorious  fun.  Why  have  n't  I  tried  it  before  ?  " 

"  The  slide  is  only  just  ready.  This  is  the 
second  night  it  has  been  lighted.  Do  you  know,  I 
should  think  Rob  could  go  in  for  this." 

"  Except  for  the  climb  back  up  the  slide ;  he 
never  could  do  that,  not  this  winter,  at  least."  As 
she  spoke,  she  stepped  forward  and  stood  leaning 
on  the  rail. 


254  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  How  long  do  you  think  —  "  Ronald  said,  as  he 
joined  her  there. 

Swiftly  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Ronald,  I  don't  know.  Sometimes,  I  think  it 
won't  be  long,  think  it  does  n't  amount  to  much  ; 
sometimes,  I  get  desperate.  It 's  a  cruel  game,  that 
football ;  it  has  done  harm  enough,  even  if  Rob 
does  take  it  all  as  a  grand  joke.  Down  under- 
neath, I  know  he  has  hated  it,  all  this  last  year, 
the  being  out  of  things.  And  it  is  so  slow.  We 
hoped  that  six  months  more  would  see  him  out 
of  it." 

Ronald  spoke  slowly,  his  eyes  on  the  far-off 
cluster  of  tiny  lights. 

"  What  a  plucky  chap  he  is  !  I  wish  I  had  half 
of  his  grit." 

"  Perhaps  there  are  two  sorts,"  Day  answered 
gently. 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  and,  as  her  brown  eyes 
rested  upon  his,  something  in  their  expression 
reminded  him  of  that  far-away  day  when  they  had 
gone  to  the  fort  at  Levis. 

"  I  mean  that  there  are  other  hurts  besides  those 
one  gets  in  football." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented  slowly.     "  Yes,  there  arc." 

"  And  that  it  takes  fully  as  much  pluck  to  meet 
them." 


IN  QUEBEC  255 


"  Yes,"  he  assented  again.     "  Yes,  it  does." 

Then  there  came  a  little  pause  between  them, 
and  the  pause  lengthened.  Under  its  spell,  the 
voices  on  the  slide  behind  them  grew  faint  and 
indistinct,  and  the  strident  hum  of  many  toboggans 
lost  itself  in  the  throbbing  beat  of  the  little  ferry- 
boat just  swinging  out  into  the  stream.  Suddenly 
Day  spoke. 

"  Ronald,"  she  asked ;  "  do  you  remember  that 
day  at  Levis  ?  " 

"  I  was  just  thinking  about  it,"  he  replied. 

"  So  was  I,  and  I  've  been  ashamed  of  myself, 
while  I  thought." 

"  Ashamed,  Day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ashamed,"  she  answered  vehemently. 
"  No,  wait.  Let 's  talk  it  out.  We  did  talk  it  out, 
that  day  ;  at  least,  a  little  bit.  You  told  me  then 
how  you  had  had  to  give  up  college  and  all  that, 
how  you  had  had  to  start  fresh  and  make  your 
own  way.  I  told  you  then  that  I  knew  you  'd  do  it, 
that  no  one  of  your  friends  would  be  gladder  about 
it  than  I." 

"  And  would  they  ? "  he  questioned,  as  she  came 
to  a  dead  halt. 

She  made  a  little  gesture  of  despair. 

"  I  'm  afraid  they  would  ;  at  least,  if  you  can  tell 
anything  from  the  way  I  've  treated  you.  I  've 
been  horrid,  Ronald,  when  I  might  have  helped." 


256  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"But  —  " 

Impetuously  she  interrupted  him. 

"  There  is  n't  any  but.  When  you  told  me,  that 
day,  I  did  n't  think  much  about  it,  what  it  all  must 
mean.  Since  then,  you  've  told  me  more  ;  I  've 
seen  the  rest.  I  know  now,  how  you  've  scrimped 
and  saved  and  worked  and  gone  without  things,  so 
that  —  " 

"  But  I  have  n't,"  he  broke  in  sturdily. 

"  Yes  ;  I  've  watched  you.  I  know  when  you  are 
worried  and  tired  ;  I  knew  what  it  meant,  when 
you  gave  up  the  Snowshoe  Club." 

Under  the  electric  light  above  their  heads,  she 
could  see  the  colour  rushing  to  his  cheeks. 

"  You  're  talking  nonsense,  Day." 

"  It  may  be  nonsense  ;  but  it  is  the  truth,"  she 
retorted  fearlessly.  "  I  have  n't  lived  in  the  house 
with  you  for  three  whole  months,  without  learning 
to  know  you  a  little  bit.  And  I  know  one  tiling 
more." 

"  And  that  ?  "  he  queried,  supplying  the  question 
for  which  her  pause  was  plainly  asking. 

"  And  that  is,  that,  when  you  were  carrying  all 
this  care  and  work  and  worry,  I  'd  much  better 
have  stuck  to  you  and  been  friends  and  helped  you 
to  frivol  and  forget  things,  when  you  could.  In- 
stead of  that,  I  lost  my  temper  and  sulked  and  let 
you  alone.  I  'in  sorry,  Ronald,  sorry  and  ashamed. 


IN  QUEBEC  257 


I  won't  do  it  any  more.  Let 's  shake  hands  on  it, 
and  then,  if  you  want  to  scold  me  afterwards,  I  '11 
give  you  leave."  And  she  held  out  her  hand  to 
him,  with  a  glance  which  was  half-whimsical  and 
wholly  appealing. 

Ronald  pulled  off  his  mittens  and  took  the  out- 
stretched hand. 

"  We  '11  let_the  scolding  go,  Day,"  he  answered. 
"  I  did  hate  the  row,  though.  Still,  it  is  over  now ; 
and  I  fancy  the  old  days  are  going  to  come  again." 

But  Day  shook  her  head. 

"  Like  last  fall  ? "  she  questioned.     "  Never." 

Ronald's  face  fell. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  asked  slowly. 

Gently  she  took  away  her  hand,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  with  her  eyes  resting  011  the  southern 
hills. 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  and  her  voice  was  full 
of  her  content ;  "  because  then  there  was  n't  any 
Rob." 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  Janet's  voice  sounded  in  their 
ears.  "  I  wish  you  'd  stop  mooning  there  beside 
the  rail,  and  talk  to  me.  I  'm  lonesome." 

"  You  should  n't  have  deserted  us,  then,"  Ronald 
said,  as  he  linked  his  arm  in  hers. 

She  made  a  little  grimace  of  disgust. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't.  Those  children  don't  know 
how  to  steer  •  they  landed  me  on  my  nose  in  front 

17 


258  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

of  the  statue.     I  bit  the  dust  and  scraped  the  skin 
off  my  elbow.     Why  arc  n't  you  sliding  ?  " 

"  We  stopped  to  talk." 

"Evidently."  Janet  sniffed  disdainfully.  "I 
should  think  you  might  talk  enough  in  the  house, 
and  not  waste  this  gorgeous  moonlight.  What 
were  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Rob." 

Janet  spun  about  to  face  Day. 

"  Oh,  were  you  ?  And  I  was  thinking  about  him. 
Just  before  I  went  off  the  toboggan,  I  hit  upon  the 
loveliest  idea." 

"  Most  likely  that  was  what  upset  the  toboggan, 
Janet,"  Ronald  suggested  unkindly.  "  What  was 
the  idea." 

"  Let 's  write  to  Sidney." 

"  She  owes  me  a  letter  now." 

"  Well,  I  owe  her  one,  so  we  're  even.  But  I 
mean  about  Rob." 

«  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  That  he  's  there." 

"  Sidney  will  be  thrilled,"  Ronald  said  dryly,  for, 
all  the  last  weeks  of  the  previous  summer,  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  regard  Sidney  Stayrc  as  his 
own  particular  comrade,  and  he  had  no  especial 
desire  to  admit  others  to  the  comradeship. 

Janet  gave  a  little  stamp  of  sheer  impatience. 

"  Don't  tease,  Ronald.     Else,  I  '11  be  cross,"  she 


IN  QUEBEC  259 


warned  him.  Then  she  turned  to  Day.  "  Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  good  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Sidney 
lives  there  and  she  is  a  darling.  She  would  love  to 
know  Rob,  because  he  's  been  with  us,  all  winter, 
and  could  tell  her  all  the  news,  all  the  things  there 
is  n't  time  to  write.  She  would  ask  him  to  see  her, 
and  make  it  ever  so  nice  for  him." 

"  Steady,  Janet !  "  Ronald  laid  a  brotherly  hand 
upon  her  shoulder,  as  there  came  a  pause  in  her 
eager  speech.  "  Remember  that  Rob  has  been  in 
New  York  always,  and  has  his  own  friends  there. 
He  most  likely  does  n't  need  to  have  you  find  him 
any  new  ones." 

However,  to  Ronald's  surprise,  Day  ranged  her- 
self on  Janet's  side. 

"  It 's  a  good  idea,  Janet.  Write  to  Sidney,  as 
soon  as  you  can.  Rob  is  bound  to  be  lonely.  He 
is  going  to  be  in  the  hospital,  where  he  can  have 
treatment,  every  day,  and  that  will  take  him  miles 
and  miles  from  where  we  live.  Most  of  his  friends 
are  away  at  school,  anyway,  and  he  has  n't  told  a 
soul  he  is  to  be  in  town.  You  write  to  Sidney,  in 
the  morning ;  and  I  '11  send  a  note  to  Rob,  to  look 
out  for  a  message  from  her."  Then  she  turned 
back  to  Ronald.  "  Come,"  she  said  ;  "  shall  we 
have  one  more  last  slide, before  it  gets  too  late?" 
And,  with  a  Leslie  upoir either  hand,  she  went  back 
into  the  heart  of  the  throng. 


260  JANET:   HER 


CHAPTER   SIXTEEN 

LESS  than  a  week  later,  tragedy  befell  Ronald 
Leslie.  It  befell  by  way  of  Fainille  Street 
hill  and  a  dust-covered  streak  of  ice,  and  it  sent 
him  home  to  nurse  a  sprained  wrist.  The  tragedy 
took  place  at  noon  of  Saturday.  On  Sunday  morn- 
ing, just  as  the  boom  of  the  Basilica  bells  came 
crashing  down  across  the  clean,  cold  air,  Sir 
George  Porteous  mounted  the  Leslie  steps,  and 
asked  to  see  Ronald. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  greeted  his  host.  "  I  heard 
you  were  ill,  you  know.  I  thought  you  'd  be  in 
bed." 

His  accent  was  rebuking.  For  reply,  Ronald 
held  up  his  bandaged  wrist. 

"This  is  all  the  damage.  But  how  did  you 
hear?" 

"  At  dinner,  last  night." 

"  Oh,  you  dined  with  the  chief  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  invited  me,"  Sir  George  made  level 
answer.  "  He  told  me  you  were  injured." 

Ronald  laughed. 


IN  QUEBEC  261 


"  He  told  the  truth.  I  'm  injured  in  my  body  and 
my  pocket." 

Sir  George  sat  gazing  up  at  him  with  wrinkled 
brow.  Ronald,  tall  and  hearty  and  handsome,  as 
he  stood  leaning  against  the  mantel,  was  scarcely 
the  sort  of  invalid  Sir  George  had  expected  to 
find. 

"  You  had  your  hand  in  your  pocket  ? "  he 
queried  at  length. 

"  No.  I  laid  it  down  in  front  of  me  and  fell  down 
on  top  of  it." 

"You  must  be  very  heavy,"  Sir  George  made 
thoughtful  comment. 

"  I  am,  amazingly." 

Sir  George's  voice  took  on  a  minor  key. 

"  I  am  very  sorry.     It  must  have  hurt  you." 

"  It  did,  like  the  deuce,"  Ronald  responded 
fervently. 

"  I  am  really  sorry."  Sir  George's  voice,  ac- 
centless  though  it  was,  yet  left  no  doubt  of  his  sin- 
cerity. "  I  have  n't  many  friends  here,  you  know, 
and  it  makes  a  fellow  sorry,  when  one  of  them  gets 
hurt.  Will  it  last  you  long  ?  " 

"  A  week  or  so."  Ronald  crossed  the  room  and 
flung  himself  into  a  chair.  "That's  the  beastly 
part  of  it." 

"  Is  it  so  very  painful  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  it  knocks  me  out  of  going  to  the  office." 


262  JANET:   HE  11    WINTER 

Sir  George  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  straight- 
ened out  his  legs. 

"  I  should  n't  think  you  'd  mind,"  he  said  placidly. 

"  But  I  do." 

"  Mind  missing  the  chance  of  sitting  on  a  stool  ?  " 

Ronald  coloured. 

"  Mind  not  getting  paid  for  it,"  he  answered 
briefly. 

"  Oh ;  but  they  don't  pay  a  fellow  enough  to 
count  for  much,"  Sir  George  reminded  him. 

"  It  counts  to  me,"  Ronald  answered  still  more 
briefly.  "  I  need  the  money." 

Sir  George  drew  off  his  glove,  drew  out  his 
handkerchief,  then  paused  with  the  handkerchief 
suspended  in  mid-air. 

"  Need  the  money  for  what,  old  man  ? "  he 
asked,  and  there  was  an  indescribable  kindliness 
in  his  voice  which  Ronald  found  it  hard  to 
resent. 

"  Need  it  to  run  things,"  he  replied  carelessly. 
"  I  am  a  family  man,  Sir  George." 

Slowly  Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  understand,"  he  said 
vaguely. 

Ronald  gave  one  comprehensive  glance  at  the 
figure  before  him. 

"  No,"  he  said  then  ;  "  I  'm  afraid  you  don't." 

There  came  a  long,  long  silence,  while  Sir  George 


IN  QUEBEC  263 


appeared  to  be  communing  with  himself.  Suddenly 
he  looked  up. 

"  I  say,"  he  said  alertly ;  "  would  you  be  able 
to  go  for  a  drive  ?  You  could  have  a  cushion  and 
things,  and  it 's  a  jolly  sort  of  day." 

Ronald  hesitated.  While  he  was  hesitating,  his 
mother  came  into  the  room,  and  Sir  George  sprang 
to  his  feet. 

"  I  did  n't  suppose  the  fellow  had  it  in  him," 
Ronald  said,  late  that  night. 

"  You  can't  tell,  by  looking  at  a  toad,  how  far 
he  '11  hop,"  Day  quoted  succinctly,  from  her  scat 
across  the  room. 

And  Janet  added, — 

"  And  every  clown  has  his  sober  minutes." 

But  Ronald  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  all  clown,  either.  He  may  not  be  a 
genius;  but  he's  a  good-hearted  little  chap,  and, 
once  he  gets  to  talking,  he  has  an  occasional  idea." 

"  Semi-occasional,  you  mean,"  Day  corrected 
him. 

Ronald,  however,  was  on  the  defensive. 

"  Anyway,  he  was  the  first  person  to  come  to  ask 
after  my  broken  bones,"  he  retorted.  "  That  is 
something,  and  I  was  glad  when  the  mater  was 
inspired  to  be  nice  to  him." 

"  Were  n't  we  all  nice  to  him  ? "  Janet  inter- 
posed. "  I  let  him  sit  in  Rob's  place,  and  put  the 


264  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

sugar  in  his  tea.  Day  showed  him  pictures,  and 
Mrs.  Argyle  made  up  some  sort  of  an  acquaintance 
with  his  step-mother.  What  more  could  you  ask  ? " 

Mrs.  Argyle  glanced  up  from  her  book.  Day  had 
coaxed  the  two  young  Leslies  into  her  sitting-room 
where  she  sat  reading  and  contributing  an  occa- 
sional phrase  to  the  talk. 

"  I  did  n't  have  to  make  it  up,  Janet.  I  knew 
Lady  Dudsworth  well ;  she  was  very  nice  to  me, 
the  first  time  I  was  in  England.  I  remember  this 
boy,  for  he  was  a  boy  then ;  but  I  had  forgotten  his 
name." 

"  How  old  is  he  ?  "  came  in  duet  from  Day  and 
Janet. 

But  Mrs.  Argyle  pursued  her  own  train  of 
thought. 

"  Lady  Dudsworth  is  a  delightful  woman.  It 
seems  that  she  gave  Sir  George  a  letter  to  me  in 
New  York.  For  her  sake,  I  should  like  to  be  kind 
to  him." 

Day  shook  her  head. 

"  Then,  after  all,  it  is  another  case  of  Kismet" 
she  said  whimsically.  "  We  met  in  the  fort  at 
Levis.  Remember,  Ronald  ?  And  Rob  met  him 
in  the  train.  Now  what  do  you  propose  to  do 
about  it  all?" 

"  Make  it  as  pleasant  for  him  as  I  can,"  Mrs. 
Argyle  said  decidedly. 


IN  QUEBEC  265 


"  Mother !     That  monkey  !  " 

Mrs.  Argyle  smiled. 

"  Too  late,  Day  !  As  Rob  said,  you  've  eaten  his 
salt." 

But  Day  protested. 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it.  Be- 
sides, it  was  Rob,  not  I,  who  accepted  the  invita- 
tion. He 's  funny  ;  I  like  to  hear  him  talk.  Still, 
he  drives  me  frantic,  he  is  so  immortally  futile. 
Think  of  him,  mother,  beside  our  Rob !  " 

And,  in  spite  of  herself,  Mrs.  Argyle  laughed,  as 
she  made  answer,  — 

"  Day,  I  can't." 

However,  Ronald  had  the  last  word. 

"  He  may  be  futile,  and  he  may  be  funny,"  he 
said.  "  Still,  as  I  said,  he  is  a  good-hearted  little 
chap ;  and,  between  you  and  the  chief,  Mrs.  Ar- 
gyle, we  have  proved  that  he's  socially  sound. 
You  girls  can  do  as  you  like;  but,  for  my  part, 
I  hope  he  '11  come  again." 

Sir  George  did  come  again,  and  yet  again. 
Under  his  languid,  futile  exterior,  he  had  a  heart 
that  was  singularly  human  and  boyish  ;  and  his 
heart  had  been  touched  by  the  welcome  accorded 
him  at  the  Sunday  night  supper  which  had  followed 
their  drive.  Sent  out  from  England  in  deference 
to  the  general  theory  that  a  potential  heir  should 
see  something  of  the  colonies  before  settling  down 


266  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

for  life  in  the  home  kingdom,  Sir  George  had  been 
a  lonely  British  stranger  in  a  strange  French  city. 
Somewhere  in  the  core  of  his  being  was  a  fervent 
love  of  children  and  of  home.  His  Christinas  party 
had  testified  to  the  one ;  his  eager  acceptance  of 
Mrs.  Leslie's  invitation  had  borne  witness  to  the 
other. 

Even  Ronald  had  been  surprised  at  Sir  George, 
that  night  at  supper.  Shining  social  success  he 
would  never  be ;  but,  under  the  friendly  question- 
ings of  Mrs.  Leslie,  somewhat  of  his  vacant  futility 
had  dropped  from  him,  and  he  had  told  her  of  his 
home  life,  speaking  with  a  simple  dignity  which 
was  new  to  all  their  eyes.  It  was  then  that  Mrs. 
Argyle  had  made  her  discovery  of  his  kinship  to 
Lady  Dudsworth,  and,  in  the  talk  which  followed, 
Sir  George  had  wakened  into  something  resembling 
a  normal  man.  Funny  he  was  and  would  be, 
consummately  funny.  Nevertheless,  when  he  said 
good  night  and  went  his  way,  he  left  behind  him 
an  impression  of  gentle  breeding  and  kindly 
thoughtfulness  which  went  far  to  atone  for  his 
mental  eccentricities. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  better  soon,"  he  said,  as  he 
shook  Ronald's  hand  in  parting.  "  Perhaps  I  may 
look  in  on  you  again,  you  know,  to  see  if  you  are 
feeling  fit." 

He  did  look  in,  the  very  next  afternoon.     Before 


IN  QUEBEC  267 


that,  however,  he  journeyed  down  into  Saint  Paul 
Street  in  search  of  Ronald's  chief. 

One  of  the  minor  clerklcts  found  him  there, 
straying  aimlessly  about  among  the  stoves,  rescued 
him  and  escorted  him  to  the  official  sanctum.  Sir 
George  tapped  on  the  door,  then  walked  in. 

"  Good  morning ! "  he  observed. 

The  chief  looked  up. 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  George  !  Glad  to  see  you," 
he  said  crisply.  "  Excuse  me  for  one  moment. 
Then  I'll  be  with  you." 

"  Oh,  no  hurry  !  "  Sir  George  answered  calmly. 
"  I  've  the  whole  morning,  you  know." 

For  one  moment,  and  for  two,  the  chief  wrote 
busily.  Then  he  whirled  about  in  his  chair  with 
a  suddenness  which  caused  Sir  George  to  start 
and  draw  up  his  feet  in  alarm. 

"Well,  what  can  I  do  for  you?"  The  tone  was 
brisk,  alert. 

"  I  came  to  have  a  talk." 

"  Not  to  go  into  the  business  ?  " 

Hurriedly  Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  Oh,  no.  I  fancied  we  had  settled  that 
already." 

«  What  then  ?  " 

Sir  George's  reply  came  with  unexpected  direct- 
ness. 

"  I  came  to  talk  about  young  Leslie." 


268  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  What  about  him  ?  " 

"  He  has  broken  his  bone." 

"Sprained  it.     Yes.     I  told  you.     What  then?" 

"  The  fellow  says  he  needs  some  money." 

The  other  man  frowned. 

"And  sent  you  to  ask  for  it?"  he  inquired 
sharply.  "  That 's  not  like  Leslie." 

The  glass  fell  with  a  click. 

"  He  did  n't  send  me.  I  came,"  Sir  George  ox- 
plained.  "  It's  not  just  now  he  needs  it.  I  fancy 
it  is  all  the  time.  At  least,  he  said  so.  What  do 
you  suppose  the  fellow  meant  ?  " 

"fie  probably  meant  what  we  all  know:  thnt 
they  have  had  severe  reverses,  and  that  he  is  short 
of  money." 

"  But  what  should  a  fellow  like  that  want  of 
money  ?  " 

"To  live  on." 

Sir  George  pondered. 

"For  coals  and  things?"  he  asked  presently. 

"  Yes." 

"  By  George ! "  lie  shook  his  head.  "  By 
George!  A  fellow  like  young  Leslie!  That's 
hard  lines."  Then  he  looked  up,  and  a  sudden 
determination  added  lustre  to  his  eyes.  "  Of 
course  you  pay  him  his  salary,  now  he  's  ill  ?"  he 
demanded. 

"  As  a  rule,  we  pay  half." 


IN  QUEBEC  269 


Sir  George  stiffened  slightly. 

"Oh,  I  think  you'd  best  pay  him  the  whole," 
he  said. 

"  But  it 's  not  according  to  our  rule." 

Sir  George  blundered  upon  an  epigram. 

"  Rules  are  made  to  be  broken,"  he  said.  Then, 
quite  unexpectedly,  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "Oh,  I 
say,"  he  remarked  persuasively  then ;  "  Leslie 's  a 
good  fellow.  You  told  me  so,  yourself.  He's 
down  on  his  luck,  you  know.  You  'd  best  give 
him  all  his  money.  He  can't  live  on  half  a  coal, 
such  weather  as  this.  Just  give  it  to  him,  and, 
by  George,"  Sir  George  added  in  one  tremendous 
outburst ;  "  if  your  shop  is  going  to  suffer,  I  '11 
come  down  here  and  sit  on  a  stool  half  of  his  time, 
myself."  And,  his  face  wrinkled  heavily  from  the 
unaccustomed  shutting  of  his  jaw,  Sir  George  Por- 
teous  marched  out  of  the  office  and  neglected  to 
close  the  door  behind  him. 

"  But  I  like  young  Leslie,"  he  said  to  himself,  as 
he  turned  away  down  the  street.  "  He 's  a  good 
fellow,  and  he's  not  always  chaffing  one.  It's  a 
brute  of  a  thing  to  be  wanting  money,  you  know. 
A  fellow  would  almost  do  his  work  for  him,  to 
save  him  that." 

And,  filled  with  a  vague  desire  to  make  some 
contribution  to  the  Leslie  resources,  Sir  George 
betook  himself  to  the  florist  shop  and  ordered  vio- 
lets sent  to  Mrs.  Leslie. 


270  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

The  end  of  the  following  week  found  Ronald  hack 
at  the  deserted  desk  which  Sir  George  had  threat- 
ened to  occupy  in  his  stead.  With  rare  self-con- 
trol, the  chief  omitted  to  make  known  the  details 
of  his  call  from  Sir  George.  Nevertheless,  a  week 
later,  he  summoned  Ronald  to  his  private  room. 

"  You  are  quite  worth  it  to  me,"  he  said  kindly, 
at  the  conclusion  of  their  talk;  "and  I  fancy  it 
won't  come  amiss  to  you.  You  are  carrying  a 
heavy  care,  for  so  young  a  man.  No ;  don't  thank 
me.  I  '11  get  it  back  out  of  you,  in  the  shape  of 
work.  You  have  proved  that  you  are  the  man  for 
the  place.  By  the  way,"  he  added  casually  ;  "  Sir 
George  Porteous  says  he  is  seeing  a  good  deal  of 
you." 

Ronald  laughed. 

"  Yes,  he  's  at  the  house  rather  often.  He  and 
my  mother  are  getting  to  be  great  friends.  He's 
not  a  bad  little  chap ;  he 's  only  funny." 

The  older  man  nodded. 

"You're  right.  He  has  good  blood,  and  that 
tells,  in  the  end.  I  knew  his  father.  Make  it  as 
pleasant  for  the  fellow  as  you  can.  You  won't  be 
sorry."  And  he  gave  a  curt,  kind  nod  of  dismissal. 

In  talking  to  his  chief,  Ronald  had  spoken  truly. 
His  mother  and  Sir  George  Porteous  were  getting 
to  be  great  friends,  fast  friends.  In  fact,  during 
the  past  ten  days,  Sir  George's  calls  had  been  fre- 


IN  QUEBEC  271 


quent.  He  had  ended  by  dropping  in  to  see  them 
all,  usually  appearing  simultaneously  with  the  tray 
and  sitting  out  his  second  cup  of  tea.  In  the  be- 
ginning, however,  his  calls  had  been  for  Ronald, 
and  for  him  alone,  for  the  tall,  ruddy-faced  Cana- 
dian appeared  to  have  won  the  little  Englishman's 
whole  heart.  Sir  George  himself  would  have  found 
scant  difficulty  in  accounting  for  this  sudden  liking. 
Accustomed  all  his  life  long  to  be  the  butt  of  ill- 
suppressed  mirth,  Ronald's  grave  courtesy,  albeit 
superficial  and  hard  to  maintain,  had  won  his  un- 
dying gratitude.  Sir  George,  as  a  rule,  was  just 
shrewd  enough  to  discover  that  there  usually  was  a 
joke  about,  when  he  was  present;  but  to  be  quite 
unable  to  determine  where  the  point  of  the  joke 
might  lie.  He  had  liked  Rob  Argyle  ;  but  Rob's 
whole  manner  to  him  had  been  suggestive  of  a 
veiled  and  elusive  form  of  chaff.  Ronald,  however, 
had  treated  him  with  a  portentous  seriousness,  and 
Sir  George's  gratitude  directed  itself  accordingly. 
It  was  as  well,  perhaps,  that  Sir  George  had  no 
inkling  of  the  real  thoughts  which  underlay  the 
superficial  gravity  of  Ronald  Leslie. 

Nevertheless,  Ronald  had  been  touched  by  the 
true  kindliness  of  Sir  George's  initial  call.  Later 
on,  he  admitted  to  himself,  in  the  intervals  of  his 
mirth,  a  sound  respect  for  the  little  Englishman 
whose  heart  was  palpably  so  superior  to  his  head. 


272  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

And  to  them  all,  Ronald  included,  it  was  equally 
palpable  that  that  heart  had  been  given  over  wholly 
to  the  long  Canadian.  Janet  Sir  George  treated 
exactly  as  he  would  have  treated  a  telephone, 
could  he  have  so  far  recovered  from  his  London 
conservatism  as  to  treat  that  instrument  with  any- 
thing bordering  upon  familiarity.  Day,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  viewed  with  exceeding  interest  and 
curiosity. 

"I  suppose  it's  because  you're  American,  you 
know,  that  makes  you  so  very  brisk,"  he  said,  one 
day.  "  You  get  about  so  fast  that  a  fellow  never 
knows  where  he  '11  find  you  next,  and  you  talk  as 
fast  as  you  get  about.  I  get  quite  tired,  trying 
to  keep  up  with  you."  And,  puffing  noisily,  Sir 
George  halted  his  snowshoes  and  turned  his  back 
to  the  wind. 

It  might  well  have  tired  a  sturdier  man  than  Sir 
George  Porteous  to  keep  pace  with  Day  Argyle,  in 
those  last  weeks  of  January.  The  charm  of  the 
Canadian  winter  was  upon  her.  Furred  to  her 
ear-tips,  a  plaid  tarn  o'shanter  hat  cocked  corner- 
wise  upon  her  head,  and  Scotch  plaid  leggings 
covering  her  from  her  heels  to  the  hem  of  her 
short  kilted  skirt,  Day  Argyle  was  to  be  seen 
abroad  in  sunshine  and  in  storm.  She  defied  all 
weathers,  all  temperatures.  Hardy,  happy,  glow- 
ing with  contentment  and  with  exercise,  she  spent 


IN  QUEBEC  273 


long  hours  in  the  open  air,  walking,  driving,  or 
sliding,  according  to  the  state  of  the  weather  and 
to  the  wish  of  her  companion  of  the  moment. 
With  Janet  and  on  snowshoes,  she  scoured  the 
surrounding  country,  wandering  to  and  fro  across 
the  old  battleground  until  she  could  tell  to  a  nicety 
where  Wolfe's  line  of  march  deviated  from  the 
easiest  trail.  Under  Ronald's  teaching,  she  learned 
the  trick  of  taking  her  toboggan  down  every  slide 
in  the  region.  She  taught  herself  skiing  and,  once 
she  succeeded  in  training  her  own  feet  to  await  her 
signal  for  starting  down  the  slopes  of  the  Cove 
Fields,  she  set  about  teaching  the  same  lesson  to 
the  feet  of  Sir  George  Porteous.  As  pupil,  Sir 
George  was  less  apt  than  enthusiastic.  He  had  a 
trick  of  allowing  his  skis  to  run  away  with  him, 
and  Day,  after  he  had  picked  himself  out  of  a  drift 
for  the  twentieth  time,  abandoned  the  attempt. 

The  daylight  hours  were  far  too  few  for  the  girl's 
enjoyment.  Night  after  night,  she  and  Janet  and 
Ronald  pushed  back  their  chairs  from  the  table 
and,  stopping  only  for  their  wraps  and  the  tobog- 
gan, betook  themselves  to  the  terrace.  Or  else, 
slinging  their  snowshoes  on  their  backs,  they 
hailed  a  car  for  the  toll-gate  whence  they  started 
for  a  long  cross-country  tramp,  over  the  level  fields 
glistening  white  in  the  moonlight,  along  the  crest 
of  the  cliff  above  the  gleaming  river,  then  on  and 

18 


274  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

on  through  the  trees,  until  Sillery  Point  was  be- 
hind them  and  the  stillness  of  the  winter  night 
was  unbroken  by  any  human  sound.  And  the 
evening  always  ended  with  a  row  of  chairs  drawn 
up  before  the  blazing  fire  at  home,  while  they  ate 
the  supper  which  Mrs.  Leslie  had  made  ready  for 
their  coming.  And  always,  before  the  evening 
was  ended,  one  of  the  young  voices  was  sure  to 
say  wishfully, — 

"  If  only  Rob  were  here  !  " 

To  Day  Argyle,  Rob's  absence  was  the  one 
faulty  spot  in  her  life.  Otherwise,  just  then,  she 
was  perfectly  content.  She  missed  her  brother  at 
every  turn,  missed  him,  to  her  surprise,  far  nn  re 
acutely  with  each  passing  day.  Her  old-time 
friendship  with  Ronald  had  renewed  itself  com- 
pletely. Their  companionship  was  closer,  their 
understanding  of  each  other  better  than  it  had 
ever  been  before.  In  the  long  winter  evenings, 
in  the  golden  Saturday  afternoons,  Ronald  did 
with  her  all  the  things  she  had  so  often  longed 
to  do  with  Rob.  Day  entered  into  all  his  plans 
with  zest.  She  enjoyed  them  wholly ;  she  was 
perfectly  aware  that,  in  her  gay,  care-free  society, 
Ronald  was  forgetting  some  part  at  least  of  the 
worries  which  were  cramping  him  at  every  turn. 
If  it  were  all  she  could  do  for  him,  this  making 
him  forget  things  and  be  jolly,  at  least,  she  would 


IN  QUEBEC  275 


do  it  with  all  her  might.  Doing  it,  moreover,  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  keep  from  glorying  in 
the  strength  and  vigorous  beauty  of  her  compan- 
ion, in  the  constant,  brotherly  care  for  her  comfort 
which  he  lavished  upon  her.  Day  came  in  from 
their  long  expeditions,  eager,  alert,  happy,  to  find 
the  final  pleasure  missing.  If  only  she  could  have 
talked  it  all  over  afterwards  with  Rob !  Ronald, 
in  those  days,  was  a  continual  pleasure  and  de- 
light; Rob  was  a  part  of  her  very  self.  Between 
the  lines  of  his  frequent  letters,  she  sought  to  read 
the  assurance  that  he  mourned  for  her  as  she  for 
him. 

And  then,  one  day  in  early  February,  Sir 
George  Porteous  came  to  ask  Day  to  go  snow- 
shoeing.  There  was  an  instant  of  hesitation  in 
her  acceptance  of  the  invitation,  as  she  glanced 
out  at  the  sour  gray  sky  which  hung  low  above 
the  rocky  cape.  It  was  not  a  day  to  tempt  one 
out.  Nevertheless,  Day  bethought  herself  that, 
with  Janet  in  school  and  her  mother  in  Mon- 
treal for  the  night,  time  was  bound  to  hang 
heavy  on  her  hands.  Sir  George's  face  was 
wishful ;  she  was  indifferent.  As  result,  she  went. 

For  the  first  half  hour,  all  was  well.  Sir 
George  was  extraordinarily  expert  in  the  man- 
agement of  his  shoes,  extraordinarily  likable  in 
his  mood  of  half-homesick  confidence.  Glowing 


276  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

and  warm  witli  the  brisk  exercise,  Day  forgot 
somewhat  of  the  sourness  of  the  sky  ;  and,  as 
they  halted  to  rest  at  the  foot  of  the  Aux 
Braves  monument,  she  was  wholly  glad  that  she 
had  ventured  forth.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  troubles 
began.  Sir  George  attempted  to  tighten  the 
thong  of  one  of  his  shoes,  lost  his  mitten  in  the 
process,  lost  off  his  other  shoe  in  hunting  for 
his  mitten.  And,  meanwhile,  Day,  waiting  there 
beside  the  monument,  felt  her  warm  glow  fast 
changing  to  a  clammy  chill,  as  the  wind  came 
sweeping  up,  bleak  and  cold,  from  the  bare  mud 
flats  which  border  the  Saint  Charles,  when  the 
tide  is  low.  She  waited  long  and  patiently, 
until  Sir  George  was  once  more  shod  and  mit- 
tencd.  Then  she  stepped  forward  to  the  trail. 

"  Come,"  she  said.     "  Shall  we  go  on  ?  " 

Sir  George  surveyed  her  anxiously. 

"  I  say,  you  are  n't  cold,  are  you  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  You  really  look  quite  blue,  you  know." 

She  forced  herself  to  laugh  a  little. 

"  No ;  I  am  all  right.  I  shall  be  warm  as  soon 
as  we  are  stirring  again.  Suppose  we  hurry.  It 
is  growing  late." 

But  not  all  the  hurry  in  the  world  could  force 
the  chill  out  of  Day's  tired  bones.  She  stumbled 
a  little,  and  her  teeth  were  chattering,  as  she 
mounted  the  steps  at  home. 


'Then  she  stepped  forward  to  the  trail.'*    Page  276. 


IN  QUEBEC  277 


All  that  evening  and  all  that  night,  she  was  hot 
and  cold,  cold  and  hot  by  turns;  but,  even  in  the 
heat,  she  could  still  feel  that  bleak,  bleak  wind 
blowing  upward  from  the  Saint  Charles  valley. 
And  then,  just  as  the  little  travelling  clock  on  the 
table  struck  three,  she  suddenly  pulled  the  sheet 
over  her  head  and  began  to  cry,  cry  silently,  pit- 
eously,  lonesomely  for  Rob.  And  Rob  was  in 
New  York,  too  far  away  to  hold  her  shivering, 
aching  body  in  his  strong,  warm  grasp. 


278  JANKT:  n I-: ii   \VINTI-:I; 


CHAPTEE   SEVENTEEN 

AND,  meanwhile,  Rob  was  biding  his  time  in 
New  York  as  best  he  might.  lie  had  left 
Quebec,  expecting  to  stay  for  two  weeks,  lie  had 
remained  for  five.  However,  he  had  made  hassle 
to  assure  his  mother  and  Day  that  the  unexpected 
delay  portended  good  things  rather  than  bad.  In 
spite  of  falls  and  exposures  and  strains,  his  gain 
had  been  faster  than  the  doctor  had  led  him  to 
anticipate,  so  fast,  in  fact,  that  certain  daily  treat- 
ment which  he  had  expected  to  take  in  June,  could 
be  given  now.  A  little  patience,  a  little  pain  and 
a  good  deal  of  boredom,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
loss  of  a  winter  he  had  been  learning  to  enjoy,  and 
then  a  return  to  them  all  in  something  approach- 
ing his  normal  condition !  His  letters  were  long 
and  full  of  enthusiasm  over  his  improvement.  By 
the  end  of  the  second  week,  they  even  contained 
veiled  hints  of  a  possible  return,  next  season,  to  his 
school  eleven,  at  least  as  substitute. 

However,  the  fact  remained  and  would  not  down 
that  at  heart  Rob  was  undeniably  homesick  for 
Quebec  and  for  Day.  Up  till  then,  it  had  never 


IN  QUEBEC  279 


occurred  to  him  that  lie  could  grow  so  fond  of  any 
girl ;  anyway,  not  until  his  joints  were  too  stiff  to 
permit  of  football.  Now  that  his  hopes  of  future 
football  were  brightening,  he  felt  an  imperative 
need  to  talk  them  over  with  Day,  to  invoke  her 
influence  to  wheedle  his  father  into  allowing  him 
to  venture  into  the  old-time  sport.  Besides,  he 
wanted  to  hear  Day  tell  about  her  own  doings. 
Three  times  in  every  week,  the  postman  brought 
him  a  fat,  violet-sealed  letter  ;  and  Rob,  during  his 
daily  hours  of  massage,  learned  to  know  those 
letters  by  heart.  So  characteristic  were  they  that 
he  could  almost  hear  certain  of  their  phrases  fall- 
ing from  Day's  tongue.  They  were  full  of  news 
of  the  Leslies,  of  her  own  experiences,  of  the  words 
and  ways  of  Sir  George  Porteous  for  whose  increas- 
ing prominence  upon  the  Leslie-Argyle  horizon 
Rob  was  entirely  at  a  loss  to  account.  And,  inter- 
mingled with  all  these  things,  there  were  bits  of 
phrases  full  of  girlish  affection,  and  it  was  upon 
these  that  Rob  lingered  longest.  With  a  strange, 
iron-handed  woman  rubbing  and  pounding  and  bend- 
ing at  his  weary  knee,  putting  it  through  its  daily 
woes  in  a  chilly,  impersonal  fashion  that  took  no 
notice  of  the  human  being  to  whom  it  was  attached, 
it  was  a  comfort  to  lie  back  and  clasp  his  hands 
behind  the  nape  of  his  neck  and  think  how  much 
better  Day  would  have  done  it  all,  how  her  fingers 


280  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

would  have  lightened  their  attacks,  now  and  then, 
when  the  needful  rubbing  brought  the  scarlet  to  his 
checks  and  forced  a  muffled  "Ow !  "  from  his  plucky 
lips.  Rob  Argylc  dreaded  but  one  thing  more  than 
his  daily  massage.  That  was  his  daily  masseuse. 

In  the  intervals  of  her  more  strenuous  opera- 
tions, Rob  pondered  upon  the  Leslies.  Too  bad 
he  had  been  forced  to  leave  the  field,  just  as  the 
long  war  was  ended !  It  would  have  been  interest- 
ing to  have  watched  the  reconciliation  work  itself 
out,  until  peace  was  established  upon  the  old  terms. 
At  least,  it  had  been  bound  to  come.  Sir  George's 
party  had  settled  that.  Day's  letters,  too,  confirmed 
the  fact.  They  were  full  of  her  out-door  life  with 
Ronald  and  Janet;  and  one  scarcely  went  sliding, 
three  nights  a  week,  with  people  with  whom  one 
was  not  on  perfect  terms.  It  was  plain  enough  to 
Rob,  lying  on  his  back  and  thinking  the  matter 
over,  that  the  Leslies  were  doing  all  in  their  power 
to  make  amends  for  the  past.  After  all  her 
tantrums,  Janet  was  a  good  little  soul ;  and  even 
Ronald  had  more  backbone  than  Rob  at  first  had 
been  inclined  to  acknowledge.  And  how  handsome 
he  was!  And  how  increasingly  shabby!  There 
had  been  a  patch  on  the  side  of  his  shoe,  the  day 
he  had  come  to  see  Rob  off.  Quite  inconsequently, 
Rob  fell  to  wondering  how  it  would  seem  to  be  buy- 
ing neckties  at  a  midwinter  clearance  sale. 


IN  QUEBEC  281 


"  Come  in." 

"  Is  Mr.  Argyle  here  ?  "  a  courteous  and  wholly 
unknown  voice  inquired. 

Rob  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture,  regardless  of 
the  grip  of  the  masseuse  who  hung  on  his  knee  as 
if  resolved  to  hold  it  firm,  even  though  it  parted 
company  with  the  rest  of  his  anatomy. 

"  Confound  you,  do  let  go  for  a  minute !  "  he 
bade  her,  wholly  forgetting,  so  impersonal  had  been 
her  ministrations,  that  he  was  addressing  a  woman. 
"  Can't  you  see  I  want  to  speak  to  somebody  ? 
Come  in.  I  thought  it  was  the  bell-boy  with  the 
letters.  I  'm  Rob  Argyle." 

The  stranger  pushed  open  the  door,  disclosing 
to  view  a  slender,  dark-eyed  man  a  little  on  the 
younger  side  of  thirty.  His  voice  was  attractive ; 
still  more  attractive  was  his  smile,  which  gave  a 
sudden  lighting  to  an  otherwise  grave  lace. 

"  I  hope  I  'm  not  intruding,"  he  said  genially,  as 
he  came  forward  into  the  room. 

Rob  laughed,  though  with  a  sudden  desire  to 
wring  the  neck  of  his  masseuse,  who  had  once 
more  shut  her  hands  upon  the  knee  before  her. 

"Not  if  you  don't  mind  watching  the  after 
effects  of  football,"  he  answered  as  cordially  as  he 
was  able.  "  As  a  rule,  1  don't  receive  calls  at  this 
stage  of  the  game.  How  did  they  happen  to  let  you 
up  here  ?  " 


282  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  They  sent  a  boy  to  show  me  the  way.  Don't 
mind  me,  though."  The  stranger  laughed  a  little, 
as  Rob  indulged  in  dumb  but  expressive  comments 
behind  his  persecutor's  unconscious  back.  "  Ron- 
ald Leslie  wrote  me  you  were  lying  up  for  repairs, 
and  asked  me  to  look  you  up.  I  am  Wade  Win- 
throp.  We  were  with  the  Leslies,  all  last  summer." 

"Oh,  Sidney  Stayre's  cousin!"  Rob  made  in- 
voluntary comment.  Then  abruptly  he  caught 
himself  up.  "  I  've  heard  Ronald  speak  of  you  so 
often,"  he  added  more  conventionally. 

This  time,  the  guest  permitted  himself  to  laugh 
aloud. 

"  Don't  worry,"  he  said.  "  When  you  've  seen 
Sidney,  you  '11  know  that  I  don't  mind  being  called 
her  cousin.  May  I  sit  down  ?  Ronald's  letter  was 
here,  a  week  ago ;  but  I  've  been  out  of  town.  I 
came  back,  last  night,  and  Sidney  sent  me  down 
this  morning.  Do  they  let  you  out  at  all ;  or 
how  is  she  going  to  see  you?" 

Rob's  answer  came  promptly.  Already  he  liked 
the  stranger,  already  felt  that  kinship  which  comes 
from  tastes  and  training  rather  than  from  blood. 
It  had  taken  Rob  Argyle  exactly  five  minutes  to 
discover  that  Wade  Winthrop  was  of  his  world.  It 
took  him  five  minutes  more  to  discover  that  he 
wished  to  see  more,  very  much  more,  of  this  grave- 
eyed  man  with  the  sunny  smile. 


JN  QUEBEC  283 


"  I  belong  to  the  day-shift,"  he  answered  whim- 
sically. "  I  have  my  evenings  off.  Now  and  then, 
too,  I  get  half-holiday." 

"  That 's  good.     When  will  you  come  and  dine  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"Up  town,  with  my  aunt,  Mrs.  Stay  re.  There 
are  hordes  of  young  Stayrcs,  who  are  sub-angelic ; 
but  there  is  also  Sidney." 

"  And  you  ?  "  Rob  queried,  a  bit  too  directly  for 
complete  courtesy. 

The  guest  coloured. 

"  I  am  always  at  Sidney's  apron-string,"  he  made 
laughing  answer.  "  May  we  count  on  you  for  day 
after  to-morrow  ?  " 

"I'd  be  delighted.  Now  just  sit  still.  This 
performance  is  nearly  over,  and  then  we  can  talk, 
unless  you  'd  like  a  turn."  And,  as  the  masseuse 
straightened  her  back  and  marched  out  of  the 
room,  Rob  shook  himself  into  a  dressing-gown, 
pulled  up  a  chair  and  settled  himself  at  his  ease. 
"  I  feel  a  bit  more  self-respecting,  don't  you  know," 
he  explained  then. 

His  guest  nodded. 

"  What  did  it  ? " 

"  Exeter-Andover  game,"  Rob  made  terse  answer. 

The  older  man  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"  I  was  at  Exeter,  myself.  Arc  you  the  Argyle 
who  saved  the  game,  a  year  ago  ?  " 


284  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

Rob  sought  to  keep  his  voice  in  check. 

"  That 's  what  they  say,"  he  answered  noncha- 
lantly. 

The  other's  face  lighted.  He  held  out  his  hand 
with  a  gesture  full  of  boyish  enthusiasm. 

"  I  'm  not  of  the  athletic  crowd,  myself,"  he  said 
heartily.  "  I  know  my  share  of  lying  up  ;  but  you 
—  By  Jove,  I  don't  know  but  it  was  almost  worth 
your  while !" 

Rob's  laugh  but  half  concealed  his  satisfaction. 

"  You  don't  agree  with  Leslie,  then  ?  "  he  asked. 

"How  is  that?" 

"  He  thinks  that  football  is  a  rough,  naughty 
game,  and  that  it  served  me  right  that  I  was  hurt 
in  playing  it."  Rob's  voice,  however,  was  free 
from  all  malice. 

Wade  Winthrop  smiled. 

u  You  never  can  get  an  Englishman  into  the 
spirit  of  our  American  sports,"  he  said.  "  But,  as 
for  Ronald  Leslie,  even  if  he  doesn't  go  in  for 
football,  he  is  all  a  man." 

"  Yes,"  Rob  admitted  rather  grudgingly.  "  Of  a 
sort." 

"Of  a  mighty  good  sort,"  the  other  returned. 
"  He  's  not  like  our  men  ;  but  he  's  no  Miss  Nancy. 
In  fact,  he  did  fully  his  own  share  in  pulling  me 
up  and  setting  me  on  my  feet,  last  summer." 

"  Apparently  he  did  it  well,"  Rob  said  approv- 


IN  QUEBEC  285 


ingly.  "  No ;  don't  get  on  them  now.  I  want  to 
ask  you  things.  Were  you  at  the  old  place,  last 
June?" 

"  Not  for  two  years.  But  we  can  talk  it  up 
later.  I'll  tell  Sidney,  then,  that  you  will  be  at 
dinner,  Thursday  night."  And,  with  a  cheery  nod, 
the  guest  was  gone. 

One  of  the  vexatious  delays  which  lurk  on  all 
sides  in  the  New  York  streets  caused  Rob  to  be 
late  in  reaching  the  Stayre  home,  on  that  next 
Thursday  night.  He  had  barely  time  to  discover 
that  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  house  was  book- 
ish, and  shabby,  and  altogether  delightful,  to  cast 
a  hasty  glance  down  a  long  line  of  Stayres  from 
sixteen-year-old  Sidney  to  an  infant  terrible  of 
four,  who  trudged  about  the  room  with  a  pudgy 
flannel  elephant  clasped  in  his  brief  embrace,  and 
to  assure  himself  that  Wade  Winthrop  was  in  the 
room.  Then  he  was  hurried  directly  to  the  dining- 
room  and  placed  at  the  table  between  Mrs.  Stayre 
and  Sidney.  Accordingly,  it  was  not  until  the 
gay,  informal  meal  was  ended  and  he,  with  Sidney 
and  Wade,  was  settled  before  the  parlour  fire,  that 
he  was  able  to  take  a  good,  long  look  at  his  young 
hostess  and  discover  how  he  liked  her.  All  in  all, 
he  did  like  her,  like  her  extremely.  His  first  im- 
pression, won  from  the  strong,  steady  grasp  of  her 
hand,  was  strengthened  by  his  furtive,  though  de- 


286  JANET:    HER    WINTER 

liberate  study  of  her  face.  Sidney  Stay  re  was  not 
absolutely  pretty.  Her  hair  was  brown,  her  eyes 
were  gray,  and  her  features  lacked  regularity. 
None  the  less,  she  was  alert,  genial  and  full  of  a 
subtle  suggestion  of  being  a  good  and  loyal  com- 
rade. For  the  rest,  she  had  pretty  feet,  she  was 
graceful,  and  her  simple  brown  frock,  relieved  here 
and  there  with  dashes  of  vivid  gold,  seemed  as 
characteristic  of  her  whole  personality  as  did  her 
strong  and  quiet  hands. 

"Tell  me  about  Ronald,"  she  said  at  once. 
"  He  writes  to  me,  of  course ;  but  his  letters 
tell  so  little." 

The  question  was  comprehensive.  It  set  Rob 
to  pondering  how  to  reply. 

"He  is  well,  and  working  hard." 

"  Poor  old  boy !  It  was  such  a  shame  he  had 
to  give  up  college." 

"  Do  you  think  he  cared  so  very  much  ?  " 

"  Cared  ! "  Sidney  cast  one  swift  glance  at  her 
guest.  "  You  don't  know  Ronald,"  she  added 
quietly. 

Rob  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  assented.     "  I  'm  afraid  I  don't." 

"  Whose  fault  is  it  ? "  she  asked  directly, 
though  with  a  smile  which  took  the  edge  from 
her  words. 

Rob  laughed. 


IN   QUEBEC  287 


"  Both,  I  suspect,"  he  confessed.  "  I  like 
Ronald ;  he 's  a  good  fellow.  No  doubt  he 
would  say  the  same  of  me." 

"  He  does,"  Sidney  interpolated  quietly. 

"  But,  nevertheless,  I  can't  say  that  we  either 
of  us  have  manifested  any  wild  desire  for  the 
other's  society.  My  sister  likes  him.  In  fact, 
I  fancy  he  's  that  sort." 

"  What  sort  ? "  Sidney  demanded,  with  a 
brevity  which  suggested  that  she  had  forgotten 
she  was  the  hostess  of  a  stranger  guest. 

However,  for  some  reason,  Rob  liked  her 
intrepidity.  He  was  even  conscious  of  a  sneak- 
ing wish  that  the  day  might  come  when  Sidney 
Stayre  would  take  up  the  cudgels  for  himself 
in  that  same  valiant  fashion. 

"The  sort  that  gets  on  with  girls  better 
than  —  " 

But  she  interrupted  him  in  the  midst  of  his 
phrase. 

"  He  is  n't.  Ask  my  cousin.  Ronald  is  n't 
ladylike ;  it  is  only  that  he  is  so  different  from 
our  boys  that  we  have  to  get  used  to  him.  Once 
you  know  him,  you'll  see  the  good  stuff  in  him. 
But  let's  talk  about  Janet.  Maybe  we'll  agree 
better,  there." 

Her  straightforward,  off-hand  fashion  of  going 
to  the  core  of  thiugs  was  wholly  new  to  Rob, 


288  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

wholly  pleasing.  Absolutely  girlish  and  simple, 
nevertheless  Sidney  Stayre  had  certain  of  the 
attributes  of  a  healthy  boy.  Unconsciously  he 
likened  her  to  some  of  the  comrades  he  had 
known  at  school. 

"  No,"  he  persisted  jovially ;  "  if  you  don't 
mind  I  'd  rather  talk  about  Ronald.  Maybe  we 
should  agree  there,  if  we  only  talked  it  out. 
You  know  him  better  than  I  do.  Tell  me  about 
him,  please." 

And  Sidney  told.  Unconsciously,  however,  in 
the  telling,  she  told  more  of  herself  than  of  the 
subject  of  the  talk,  told  of  her  healthy  liking 
for  the  young  Canadian,  of  her  swift  grasp  of 
the  stronger  side  of  his  nature;  hinted,  too,  at 
the  hearty  support  and  comfort  she  had  been 
to  him,  during  all  those  autumn  months  of  sor- 
row, of  worry,  and  of  self-denial.  And  Rob, 
sitting  back  and  watching  her  brightening  face, 
wondered  to  himself  how  he  could  ever  have 
doubted  her  claim  to  prettiness.  Moreover,  in 
acknowledging  the  justice  of  her  plea  for  Ron- 
ald, he  admitted  to  himself  that  Sidney  Stayre 
would  be  a  friend  worth  having.  Few  girls  were 
so  directly  loyal,  fewer  still  could  argue  for  that 
loyalty  and  leave  their  temper  and  their  sense 
of  humour  still  intact 

It   was   late,  that  evening,  and   the  talk   had 


IN  QUEBEC  289 


wandered  far  from  Ronald  Leslie,  when  Rob 
stood  up  to  go.  He  had  stooped  for  his  stick ; 
but  Sidney  had  been  before  him. 

"  You  are  gaining,  Wade  says,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile.  "  How  long  will  you  be  in  town?" 

Rob  shook  his  head. 

"  It  may  be  hours,  or  ages.  I  am  all  in  the 
hands  of  a  cast-iron  masseuse,  and  I  am  not 
sure  how  soon  she  '11  get  sick  of  mauling  me." 

Sidney  laughed. 

"Not  too  soon,  I  hope.  It  has  been  so  good 
to  see  you  and  to  hear  about  the  Leslies,  and 
we  want  you  to  come  again."  Then,  of  a  sud- 
den, her  face  broke  into  a  laugh  of  pure  mis- 
chief. "  Do  come,"  she  urged ;  "  and  often. 
Truly,  I  don't  always  fight  as  I've  been  doing 
now.  It 's  only  that  I  like  Ronald  so  well  that 
I  want  you  to  know  him  for  what  he  really  is 
worth." 

Rob's  hand  shut  over  her  fingers,  extended  in 
farewell. 

"  And,  from  all  you  say,  I  begin  to  think  he 's 
worth  the  fighting  for,"  he  answered.  "And 
thank  you  ;  I'll  come  again."  And  he  kept  his 
word. 

Three  weeks  later,  Rob  Argyle  was  quite  at 
home  in  the  Stayre  household.  Urged  by  Mrs. 
Stayre,  he  formed  the  habit  of  dropping  in 

19 


290  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

upon  them,  whenever  the  absolute  boredom  of 
the  masseuse  came  upon  his  nerves.  Promoted 
from  the  parlour  to  the  library,  shabby  and 
book-crammed,  he  spent  long  evenings  there, 
talking  with  Sidney,  playing  with  the  children, 
or  gossiping  with  Wade  of  school  and  football, 
and  of  the  Harvard  days  to  come.  Now  and 
then  Wade  walked  in  upon  him  at  the  hospital, 
.and  sat  talking  for  an  hour;  but  the  daylight 
hours  of  a  man  on  the  staff  of  an  evening 
paper  are  too  precious  for  much  idling;  and, 
for  the  most  part,  their  friendship  grew  by  arti- 
ficial light  and  by  way  of  the  Stayre  front  door. 
And,  as  the  weeks  went  by,  Rob  Argyle  was 
conscious  of  an  increasing  liking  for  Sidney,  an 
increasing  wish  to  get  her  wholesome  point  of 
view  in  regard  to  whatever  questions  might 
arise,  an  increasing  desire  that  she  and  Day 
might  meet. 

This  desire  lay  strongly  upon  him,  one  dreary 
day  in  early  February.  It  had  been  the  morning 
for  Day's  letter,  and  Day's  letter  had  not  come. 
The  mails  had  been  irregular  of  late ;  the  heavy 
snows  had  accounted  for  that.  Nevertheless,  Rob 
was  always  restless,  when  they  failed  to  appear. 
His  masseuse  had  been  unusually  energetic,  that 
morning,  too.  It  had  seemed  to  Rob  of  late  that, 
knowing  her  chances  were  drawing  to  an  end,  she 


IN   QUEBEC  291 


was  sturdily  resolved  to  cause  him  as  much  anguish 
as  possible,  during  the  short  time  which  still  re- 
mained to  her.  Twice,  that  morning,  she  had 
taken  him  in  hand,  the  second  time  with  such  un- 
gentle fingers  that  she  had  forced  a  cry  and  then 
another  from  her  brave  young  charge.  The  degra- 
dation of  his  giving  in  to  the  pain  was  weighing 
hard  on  Rob,  that  noon.  It  was  contrary  to  his 
whole  creed  of  things,  whereby  a  fellow  should  shut 
his  teeth  and  take  the  consequences  without  a 
moan.  Coupled  with  the  exhaustion  of  the  pain 
and  with  the  final  woe  of  missing  Day's  letter,  it 
left  him  in  a  mood  of  deep  depression.  Dinner 
over,  he  resolved  to  call  a  cab  and  go  in  search  of 
Sidney.  Long  before  this,  he  had  learned  that 
Sidney's  consolation  held  no  taint  of  coddling. 

He  found  her  alone  by  the  library  fire,  a  book  in 
her  hand,  but  her  eyes  fixed  on  an  invisible  some- 
thing far  beyond  the  limits  of  the  book-walled  room. 
His  step  still  dragged  a  little  and  gave  warning  of 
his  approach  ;  and  Sidney  sprang  up  alertly,  the 
dreaminess  all  gone  from  her  eyes,  as  she  held  out 
her  hands  in  greeting. 

Before  Rob  was  quite  aware  of  how  it  all  hap- 
pened, he  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  stretched  out  at 
his  ease  in  a  time-worn  morris  chair,  talking  about 
Day.  As  a  matter  of  course,  Sidney  had  heard  of 
Day.  Ronald  had  written  of  her ;  he  himself  had 


292  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

mentioned  her  repeatedly  and  often.  Now,  how- 
ever, it  was  different.  Sidney  was  interested,  sym- 
pathetic. Rob,  his  eyes  now  on  the  glowing  fire, 
now  on  her  bright  face,  gave  himself  up  wholly  to 
his  theme,  dwelling  at  long  length  on  Day's  dainti- 
ness, her  charm,  her  loyal  love,  on  their  good  times 
together,  all  those  past  ten  weeks,  even  upon  their 
childish  tiffs  and  scrapes.  Then  he  fell  to  ransack- 
ing his  pockets  for  her  letters.  Scraps  of  them  he 
read  aloud,  laughing,  explaining,  commenting  upon 
them  and  upon  Sidney's  comments  in  her  turn. 
And  at  last  his  mood  changed ;  the  depression  left 
him,  and  in  his  blue  eyes  the  wonted  merriment 
replaced  the  hunted,  worried  look  which  Sidney  had 
never  seen  in  them  till  then. 

It  had  been  early  when  he  reached  the  Stayres' 
home.  It  was  still  early,  only  half-past  three, 
when  a  sudden  buzz  and  jangle  called  Sidney  to 
the  telephone  in  the  hall.  She  was  absent  for  mo- 
ments. When  she  did  return,  her  face  was  white 
and  there  was  an  indefinable  gentleness  in  her 
manner.  For  an  instant,  she  bent  above  the  fire 
and  poked  it  to  a  blaze.  Then  slowly  and  as  if 
with  a  certain  reluctance,  she  straightened  up  and 
faced  about  to  Rob. 

"  Rob,"  she  said  then ;  "  how  plucky  are  you  ?  " 

"  Immensely,"  he  responded  promptly. 

Her  answering  smile  was  wan  and  forced. 


IN  QUEBEC  293 

"  I  am  glad.  I  have  something  —  "  She  caught 
her  breath,  "something  horrid  to  tell  you.  They  've 
just  telephoned  a  message  to  you  from  the  hospital." 

Immediately  the  smile  left  his  lips,  died  out  from 
his  blue  eyes. 

"  A  message !  "  he  echoed  sharply.     "  What  ? " 

At  sight  of  the  change  in  him,  Sidney  shrank 
from  the  blow  which  she  was  about  to  deal. 

"  It  is  a  telegram,"  she  said  slowly. 

"A  telegram?  From  Quebec?  Who  is  ill? 
Quick  !  "  he  said  imperiously. 

Sidney  rested  her  hand  on  his  arm,  pressing  him 
back  into  the  chair. 

"  It  is  Day,"  she  said  steadily.     "  She  is  ill." 

"  Very  ?  " 

She  nodded  sadly. 

"  This  was  the  message :  i  Day  has  pneumonia. 
Very  ill.  Come  if  you  can.'  " 

For  an  instant  there  was  silence,  a  silence  broken 
only  by  the  purring  of  the  blaze  among  the  coals. 
Then  Rob  lifted  his  head  and  drew  one  long,  sob- 
bing breath. 

"  If  only  it  had  n't  been  Day  !  "  he  said,  and  his 
tone  was  the  tone  of  one  speaking  of  the  dead. 

Sidney's  voice  roused  him. 

"  Shall  you  go  ?  " 

u  Of  course." 

"  When  ?  " 


294  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  Now."  He  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  No.  It 's 
too  late." 

For  a  moment,  Sidney  thought  swiftly,  deeply. 

"  You  can  do  it.  Telephone  for  a  cab.  I  '11  go 
to  Wade's  room  and  get  a  few  things  for  you  to  use 
on  the  way.  The  train  goes  at  four.  You  've  just 
time.  Wade  will  go  down  to  the  hospital,  to-night, 
to  get  your  own  things  together.  Don't  worry, 
Rob.  We  '11  see  to  everything  here,  and,  after  all, 
it  may  not  be  as  bad  as  you  think."  And,  with 
one  quick,  reassuring  clasp  of  his  fingers,  she  left 
him  and  went  hurrying  up  the  stairs. 

The  cab  was  at  the  door,  when  she  came  rushing 
back,  hatted  and  coated,  a  little  bag  in  one  hand,  a 
heavy  rug  across  the  other  arm. 

"  Come,"  she  said  briskly.  "  It  is  time  we 
started.  I  '11  drive  across  with  you  and  see  ^rou 
off.  Ready  ?  I  think  there  's  everything  here  you 
need."  And  she  sprang  into  the  cab  and  drew 
Rob  after  her.  "  The  Grand  Central,  quick  !  "  she 
said  imperiously.  Then  the  imperiousness  left  her 
voice  and  the  gentler  note  came  back  again.  "  I 
am  so  sorry,"  she  said  simply.  "  Keep  up  your 
courage,  if  you  can.  I  only  wish  I  could  be  of 
any  use." 

And  Rob,  as  he  boarded  the  train  with  those 
parting  words  still  sounding  in  his  ears,  felt  better, 
more  courageous  for  her  final  handclasp,  felt  that, 


IN  QUEBEC  295 


in  the  last  half-hour,  he  had  gained  his  first  glimpse 
of  the  real  Sidney  Stayre.  For  a  little  while,  the 
glimpse  stayed  with  him  and  brightened  him. 
Then,  with  the  falling  twilight,  the  darkness  of 
anxiety  shut  down  around  him,  and  his  pluck  failed 
him,  and  his  heart  cried  out  for  Day,  and  for  Day 
alone. 


296  JANET:  HER    WlNTEIi 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

OVER  the  wide-spaimed  arcli  of  the  Spring- 
field station,  the  snow  was  sifting  softly 
down.  The  flakes  were  small  and  icy  cold;  and 
they  came  swiftly,  steadily,  directly  down  through 
the  windless  air.  All  day  long  and  all  the  day 
before,  the  spirit  of  the  New  England  winter  had 
been  threatening  storm,  frowning,  gray  and  cold. 
By  six  o'clock  that  night,  the  first  snowflakes  had 
fallen.  By  eight  o'clock,  the  roadways  outside  the 
station  were  covered  with  a  thick,  soft  blanket,  and 
the  blanket  was  growing  thicker  with  every  passing 
minute. 

Inside  the  station,  there  was  warmth  and  light 
and  bustle.  The  waiting-rooms  were  filled  with 
people  who  came  hurrying  in,  stamping  the  snow 
from  their  feet,  shaking  it  from  their  shoulders  and 
from  their  luggage,  exchanging  the  greetings  that 
are  wont  to  fly  about  among  commuters  while  the 
local  trains  are  being  made  up  in  the  yard  above. 

Outside,  above  the  tracks  between  the  stations, 
the  snow-filled  air  was  heavy  with  steam,  and  the 
snow  beneath  the  feet  was  soft  and  slippery  with 


7^  QUEBEC  297 

the  dampness  of  the  air  above.  Over  on  the  north- 
ern track,  the  engine  of  a  long  express  train  lay 
puffing  lazily  to  itself;  and,  far  down  the  train,  a 
tall,  broad-shouldered  figure  was  standing  at  atten- 
tion beside  the  steps  of  one  of  the  sleepers. 

"  Awful  night ! "  he  said  to  his  attendant  porter, 
as  he  pulled  up  his  velvet  collar  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  together.  "  I  fancy  we  '11  have  the  car 
to  ourselves.  No,  by  Jove !  "  And  he  dashed  for- 
ward and  caught  Rob  Argyle  by  the  nearer  elbow. 
"  Steady  !  "  he  cautioned  him.  "  This  snow  is  like 
pitch.  Give  me  your  luggage.  And  so  you  're 
going  down  again  ?  " 

And  before  Rob,  tired,  dazed  and  heartsick, 
could  quite  realize  what  had  befallen  him,  he  was 
being  helped  into  the  car  and  packed  snugly  into  a 
section  directly  beneath  the  central  light. 

"  Here  you  are,  Number  Eight."  Then,  as  the 
lamps,  shining  down  upon  them,  showed  that  Rob's 
face  was  gray  to  ghastliness,  the  young  conductor 
lost  his  jollity.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked  swiftly. 
"  Are  you  ill  ?  Did  you  hurt  yourself,  when  you 
slipped  ?  " 

Rob  shook  his  head. 

"  It 's  my  sister,"  he  said  dully. 

"  You  mean  the  pretty  one  who  came  to  see  you 
off?" 

"  Yes.     She  's  the  only  one  I  have." 


298  JANET:   HER    WINTEIl 

And  the  answering  words  came  with  hearty, 
kindly  sympathy,  — 

"  I  'in  sorry.  I  hope  it  is  n't  bad."  And  then, 
for  the  hour  drew  near  for  starting,  he  yielded  to 
discipline  and  went  back  to  his  post  outside  the 
car. 

His  shoulders  were  thickly  covered  with  white, 
when  he  came  back  again.  While  the  train  drew 
slowly  out  of  the  long,  bright  station,  out  through 
the  snow-veiled  lights  of  the  city  streets,  he  moved 
briskly  to  and  fro,  removing  his  overcoat  and  assur- 
ing himself  that  all  was  right  with  his  car.  Then 
he  returned  to  Rob  and,  all  unbidden,  dropped  into 
the  vacant  seat  at  his  side. 

"  I  'm  learning  to  count  on  you  as  my  own  prop- 
erty, Mr.  Argyle,"  he  said  cheerily  then.  u  It 's  an 
odd  chance  that  always  brings  you,  when  I  'm  on 
the  run.  By  the  way.  my  name  is  Blanchard,  Jack 
Blanchard.  You  've  taken  a  bad  night  for  the 
trip." 

"  I  could  n't  wait,"  Rob  said  briefly. 

"  I  know.  I  wish  it  had  n't  been  the  reason. 
And  you?  You're  better?" 

Rob  straightened  out  his  leg  across  the  opposite 
seat. 

"  I  was  better,  almost  well.  I  twisted  myself  a 
little,  getting  out  of  the  other  car,"  he  explained 
listlessly. 


IN  QUEBEC  299 


From  under  the  shadow  of  his  visorcd  cap, 
Blanchard  eyed  him  keenly  for  a  moment.  This 
was  not  the  Rob  Argyle  he  had  seen  before. 
Plainly  his  trouble  was  deep  and  lay  upon  him 
heavily.  The  level  eyes  swept  Rob  from  head  to 
heel,  lingered  a  little  longer  on  the  feet  which  were 
moving  with  a  restlessness  which  was  not  entirely 
due  to  pain.  Then  suddenly  Jack  Blanchard 
turned  and  threw  one  sturdy  arm  along  the  back 
of  the  seat. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said  quietly.  "  It  won't 
be  so  hard  for  you,  you  know,  after  we  've  talked  it 
out." 

And  Rob,  turning  to  look  into  the  clean,  kind 
brown  eyes  that  faced  him,  was  dimly  conscious  of 
a  returning  wave  of  the  courage  which  had  started 
up  within  him  at  Sidney's  farewell  words. 

Together,  they  sat  there  talking  until  the  porter 
came  to  make  up  the  berth.  Together,  they  moved 
across  the  aisle  and  went  on  with  their  talk.  Now 
and  then,  as  the  train  slackened  its  speed  at  a 
station,  Blanchard  rose  and  went  outside.  He 
came  in  again,  his  shoulders  white,  shook  himself 
and  once  more  dropped  down  at  Rob's  side.  On 
such  a  night  as  that,  there  were  no  other  passen- 
gers; and,  as  the  hours  and  the  miles  rolled  by, 
Rob  had  an  odd  sensation  of  being  in  an  own  priv- 
ate car  accompanied  by  an  own  old  friend.  At 


300  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

least,  none  of  his  own  old  friends  could  have  been 
kindlier  to  him,  more  heedful  for  his  comfort. 

And  Rob  felt  better  for  the  talk.  It  began  with 
Day  and,  even  with  the  putting  his  alarm  into 
words,  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  alarm  grew  less, 
from  the  very  fact  of  his  sharing  it  with  another. 
Viewed  in  the  reflected  light  of  the  keen  brown 
eyes  before  him,  the  message  seemed  of  less  tragic 
omen,  Day's  girlish  strength  seemed  fitter  to  bear 
the  sudden  strain.  At  first,  Rob  spoke  reservedly 
and  as  to  a  stranger ;  but,  as  the  evening  grew  old 
and  night  came  on,  the  sense  of  strangeness  van- 
ished and  he  talked  more  freely  and  with  bright- 
ening mood. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  bluntly  at  last. 
"  It 's  not  my  business,  I  know  ;  but  how  does  a 
fellow  like  you  happen  to  be  -  The  words  stuck 
in  his  throat. 

The  other  helped  him  out. 

"  To  be  running  a  Pullman  car  ?  "  he  supple- 
mented quietly.  "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  —  Rob  faced  him  directly  ;  "  be- 
cause you  don't  seem  the  sort." 

Blanchard  laughed.  Then  he  straightened  his 
shoulders. 

"  The  question  is,  what  is  the  sort,"  he  said 
briefly.  "As  for  me,  I  was  just  starting  in  at 
Queen's,  when  the  war  came.  Fighting  is  in  my 


IN  QUEBEC  301 


race.  I  went  out  with  one  of  the  contingents. 
When  I  came  back,  a  year  ago,  the.  father  was 
dead,  and  there  's  the  mother  to  be  looked  out  for. 
I  took  the  first  thing  that  came." 

"  Oh."  Rob  pondered  swiftly.  "  Then  you  're 
another." 

"  Beg  pardon  ?  " 

Rob  glanced  up  to  meet  the  inquiring  eyes. 

"  We  're  every  one  of  us  bound  to  get  pinched, 
sooner  or  later.  It  all  depends  on  whether  we  take 
it  without  squealing,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  think- 
ing of  a  fellow  I  know  in  Quebec.  Being  ill  is  n't 
the  only  worry." 

The  other  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  when  one  comes  out  of  it  as  well  as  you  are 
going  to  do." 

But  Rob  made  dreary  answer,  — 

"  It  was  n't  about  myself  I  was  thinking  ;  it  was 
Day." 

Blanchard  glanced  out  of  the  window  at  a  lighted 
station.  Then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  Then  he 
rose. 

u  Argyle,"  he  said  kindly  ;  "  it 's  very  late.  If  I 
were  you,  I  'd  go  to  bed.  You  're  tired  ;  perhaps 
you'll  get  some  sleep.  Don't  take  this  thing 
harder  than  you  can  help  ;  pneumonia  is  n't  always 
deadly."  He  started  down  the  car.  Then,  turn- 
ing, he  came  back.  "  Put  on  your  coat  and  come 


302  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

out  on  the  platform  for  a  mile  or  two.  The  air 
will  make  ypu  sleepy,"  he  advised.  "  Then,  if  you 
don't  sleep  and  get  lonesome,  ring  me  up.  I  'm 
not  allowed  to  go  to  bed  till  three,  and  there  's  no- 
body to  be  disturbed,  in  case  you  feel  like  talking. 
Sure  your  coat  is  buttoned  ?  Come."  And  he 
led  the  way  to  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  vestibule. 

But  Rob,  as  he  had  risen  to  his  feet,  had  faced 
him  with  somewhat  of  his  old  cheery  smile. 

"  Thank  you  — Jack,"  he  had  answered.  "You're 
very  good  to  me,  you  know." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  their  quarter-hour  in  the 
snowy  outer  air,  drowsiness  was  not  for  Rob,  that 
night.  Hour  after  hour,  he  lay  awake,  his  head 
resting  on  his  heaped-up  pillows  and  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  blinding  grayish  mist  which  seemed  to  be 
enveloping  the  train.  Most  of  the  time,  his  thoughts 
were  fixed  upon  Day.  Now  and  then,  however,  as 
the  night  wore  on,  they  went  trailing  off  to  other 
things:  to  the  occasional  dry  little  cough  which 
marked  the  conductor's  whereabouts  in  the  car,  to 
the  long  delay  at  a  wayside  station  and  to  the  fan- 
tastic shapes  of  the  station  lights  behind  the  shift- 
ing veil  of  snow,  to  the  rising  wind  which  moaned 
about  the  car  and  sought  to  force  its  way  through 
the  cracks  of  the  double  windows,  to  the  steady, 
sturdy  determination  in  Jack  Blanchard's  eyes 
when  he  had  spoken  of  his  mother  and  of  taking 


IN  QUEBEC  303 


the  first  tiling  that  came.  And  the  fellow  spoke 
well,  too,  like  a  man  of  education.  And  he  had 
been  so  kind.  Rob  punched  his  pillows  into  a 
higher  mound,  while  he  rebuked  himself  for  the 
hours  he  had  sat,  pouring  his  own  personal  woes 
into  a  stranger's  ears.  Still,  a  fellow  like  that  was 
never  quite  a  stranger,  any  more  than  Sidney 
Stay  re  had  been.  Being  a  stranger  was  more  a 
matter  of  sympathy  than  of  introductions.  But 
how  long  the  night  was !  He  had  supposed  it 
nearly  over,  when  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  still 
they  were  stopping  and  starting  and  running  and 
stopping,  as  if  the  time  would  never  end.  He  fell 
to  counting  the  rails  as  he  passed  over  them.  It 
was  too  dark  to  see  his  watch  to  mark  the  twenty 
seconds  ;  nevertheless,  he  knew,  from  old  familiar- 
ity with  the  trick,  that  the  train  was  running  slowly, 
far  more  slowly  than  the  time  card  allowed.  And 
the  car  was  very  cold.  Wriggling  to  the  outer  edge 
of  the  berth,  he  straightened  up  and  sought  for 
Sidney's  rug  which  the  porter  had  stowed  away  in 
the  upper  berth. 

Wrapped  in  the  rug,  Rob  fell  asleep  at  last ;  but 
it  was  a  troubled,  restless  sleep,  haunted  by  dreams 
of  Day  who,  lost  in  the  storm  outside,  eluded  all  the 
efforts  of  Sidney  Stayre  and  Jack  Blanchard  to  find 
her.  Nevertheless,  one  and  then  the  other  of  them 
came  to  him  and  begged  him  not  to  worry.  She 


304  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

would  be  found  at  last,  if  only  it  would  leave  off 
snowing.  A  sudden  jar  of  the  train  wakened  him 
to  the  vague  consciousness  that  they  were  stopping 
at  a  wayside  station,  and  he  opened  his  eyes  to  stare 
out  into  a  mist  of  snowflakes  falling  so  fast  as  to 
hide  the  landscape  utterly.  He  stirred  a  little, 
yawning  and  rubbing  the  window  pane  in  order  to 
assure  himself  that  the  mistiness  came  from  outside 
the  car.  Then,  as  he  lay  back  again,  his  eye  met 
a  pair  of  friendly  brown  eyes  peering  in  at  him 
through  the  crack  of  the  parted  curtains. 

"  I  heard  you  stirring,"  the  owner  of  the  eyes 
said.  "  If  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  lie  still  and 
keep  your  appetite  in  check.  We  're  four  hours 
late,  and  there  is  no  chance  for  breakfast  till  we 
get  to  Newport." 

"  Four  hours  !  " 

"  Yes.     It  is  the  worst  storm  of  the  year." 

Rob's  thoughts  flew  north  to  Day. 

"  What  time  shall  we  get  in  ?  " 

"  There  's  no  telling.  I  am  sorry,  sorry  for  you 
as  a  man  can  be.  Keep  up  your  pluck,  though, 
and  we  '11  pull  through  in  time.  Let 's  hope  we  '11 
find  her  better.  I  would  telegraph  down  for  you 
for  news ;  but  they  say  the  wires  are  down,  up  on 
the  heights  at  Ilarlaka." 

The  words  were  direct  and  few ;  the  voice  was 
wholly  kind.  Then  the  eyes  vanished,  the  curtains 


IN  QUEBEC  305 


fell  together,  and  Rob  lay  back  and  pulled  the  rug 
over  his  face,  that  not  even  the  pitiless  gray  sky 
should  look  in  upon  his  fight  with  himself  for 
steadiness  and  courage. 

The  fight  lasted  long  ;  but  Rob  won  out.  When 
at  last  he  appeared  from  between  his  curtains,  his 
face  was  pale,  his  eyes  ringed  with  heavy  shadows ; 
but  his  lips  were  steady,  his  voice  had  its  old  ring. 
No  matter  if  Day  were  ill,  even  to  the  point  of 
death,  he  had  no  right  to  allow  his  own  anxiety 
and  sorrow  to  blacken  for  others  a  day  which  was 
bidding  fair  to  be  one  of  hardship.  Day  herself 
would  have  been  the  first  one  to  have  urged  him 
to  face  the  future  stoutly  and  with  a  laugh  on 
his  lips.  He  greeted  the  porter  cheerily ;  but  his 
eyes  were  a  little  wishful,  as  he  looked  about  for 
Blanchard. 

Quebec  was  still  far  distant  when  the  wintry 
twilight  closed  in  upon  a  day  of  storm.  For  Rob 
Argyle,  it  had  been  a  day  when  time  had  ceased  to 
be.  Breakfast  had  merged  itself  in  dinner ;  dinner, 
eaten  hastily  at  the  place  appointed  for  breakfast 
time,  had  occurred  somewhere  between  noon  and 
the  fall  of  twilight.  For  the  exact  hour  Rob  had 
stopped  caring.  It  seemed  to  him  that  time  would 
only  begin  again  when  his  journey's  end  should 
bring  him  news  of  Day.  When  that  end  would 
come,  what  that  news  would  be,  he  refused  to 

20 


300  JANET:   HER    WINTEIi 

allow  himself  to  think.  In  the  intervals  of  his 
long  talks  with  Blanchard,  he  forced  his  attention 
to  cling  to  the  half-veiled  scenes  outside  his  win- 
dow, to  the  snow  screen  which  shut  out  all  view 
of  the  distant  mountain  sides,  to  the  snow-heaped 
villages  grouped  about  their  gray  stone  churches, 
to  the  trams  and  smelters  and  waste  heaps  of  a 
mining  town  in  the  southern  edge  of  the  Townships, 
to  all  things  outside,  save  a  moving  human  figure. 
For  hours  on  end,  it  was  as  if  there  were  no  human 
life  outside  their  car.  The  village  streets  were 
clear  of  people,  the  platforms  of  the  stations  de- 
serted. Not  even  at  his  meals  did  Rob  catch  sight 
of  a  human  face,  for  Blanchard's  quick  eye  had 
seen  that  his  sole  passenger  was  in  no  trim  to 
battle  with  the  storm,  and  he  himself  had  come 
wading  back  to  the  car,  laden  with  spoils  from  the 
steaming  kitchen  somewhere  in  the  rear  of  the 
station. 

"  I  'm  an  old  hand  at  the  foraging,"  he  had 
explained.  "  Besides,  there 's  no  sense  in  your 
getting  wet  for  nothing.  You  're  better  off  inside 
the  car." 

And,  as  the  darkness  fell  and  Blanchard  went  to 
order  the  porter  to  turn  on  the  lights,  Rob  gave 
over  thinking  of  Day  long  enough  to  assure  himself 
that,  without  Jack  Blanchard's  jovial  care,  his 
journey  would  have  been  a  different  thing.  The 


IN   QUEBEC  307 


day  had  been  one  of  discomfort.  The  train  had 
crawled  forward  and  come  to  halt  by  turns.  The 
car  was  cold,  food  scarce,  the  outlook  dreary. 
The  train  conductor  lapsed  into  voluble  French 
at  all  questions  in  regard  to  the  hour  of  their 
arrival.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  wait  —  and 
worry.  And  Blanchard  had  so  far  helped  the  one 
thing  as  wellnigh  to  prevent  the  other.  Bundled 
in  blankets  to  the  chin,  the  two  young  fellows  had 
nestled  side  by  side,  with  Sidney's  rug  across  their 
knees,  while  Blanchard  had  spun  interminable 
yarns  of  life  on  veldt  and  kopje,  had  made  merry 
over  the  strange  people  who  had  slept  the  night  in 
that  selfsame  car.  And,  all  the  time,  even  while 
his  mirth  infected  Rob  and  chased  the  shadow  from 
his  eyes,  Blanchard's  own  keen  brown  eyes,  meet- 
ing Rob's  blue  ones,  told  their  wordless  story  of 
sympathy  and  of  friendly  liking.  And  so  the  day 
and  the  miles  dragged  on. 

Under  conditions  such  as  this,  social  rank  counts 
for  nothing.  Long  before  nightfall,  they  were  Rob 
and  Jack  to  each  other;  long  before  nightfall,  Rob 
had  forgotten  that  he  was  a  rich  man's  son,  fallen 
by  chance  into  the  care  of  an  efficient  Pullman 
conductor.  Instead,  he  merely  had  a  vague  con- 
sciousness that  Blanchard  was  an  all-round  good 
fellow  and  of  a  speech  and  manner  equal  to  his 
own  ;  that  never  once,  in  all  those  tedious  hours, 


308  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

had  he  neglected,  nor  yet  obtruded,  a  little  watch- 
ful care  for  his  weaker  comrade.  Still  more  vaguely 
was  he  conscious  that  a  comradeship  such  as  theirs 
had  been,  that  day,  was  bound  to  bear  its  fruit  at 
some  time  in  the  future.  Under  some  conditions, 
Rob  could  have  enjoyed  the  day,  enjoyed  even  its 
sheer  discomforts.  To  a  hearty  boy  with  a  mind 
at  rest,  they  would  have  held  their  own  charming 
spice  of  danger.  But  now,  however  far  diverted, 
his  mind  kept  swinging  back  to  the  one  fixed 
point.  That  point,  of  course,  was  Day. 

It  was  a  certain  relief  when  the  porter  turned 
on  the  lights.  The  drawn  curtains  of  the  car  shut 
out  all  measure  of  the  slowness  of  their  progress. 
The  wind  had  fallen  with  the  falling  dark ;  the 
drifts  were  fewer  now,  their  passage  steadier. 
And  so  they  plodded  on  and  on,  while  twilight 
grew  to  evening,  and  evening  turned  into  night. 
And  at  last,  just  as  the  clocks  in  the  distant  city 
were  chiming  the  hour  of  twelve,  the  train  rumbled 
througli  the  last  of  the  Harlaka  snowsheds  and 
went  sliding  away  down  the  long  grade  that  leads 
to  Levis. 

Cramped  and  stiff  with  the  cold  and  the  long 
sitting  still,  Rob  was  glad  to  rest  his  hand  on 
Blanchard's  shoulder,  as  he  stepped  down  from  the 
car.  His  eyes,  meanwhile  sought  through  and 
through  the  little  crowd  upon  the  platform.  Then 


IN   QUEBEC  309 


he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  while  his  other 
hand  shut  on  Blanchard's  arm.  In  all  that  little 
waiting  crowd,  there  was  no  familiar  face. 

"  Steady,  Rob !  "  Blanchard's  voice  was  quiet. 
"  Likely  there 's  been  no  ferry  across,  to-night. 
Take  my  arm.  It 's  slippery  as  death.  The  porter 
will  see  to  your  traps.  Come  along."  And  he  led 
the  way  to  the  ferry-house,  and  came  on  board  the 
little  boat,  already  steaming  and  straining  at  her 
moorings  in  the  wash  of  the  ebbing  tide. 

Once  out  upon  the  river,  they  found  themselves 
in  a  sea  of  floating,  grinding  cakes  of  ice  which 
mounted  on  each  other's  shoulders,  jostled  each 
other  with  angry  crashings,  came  eddying  and 
swirling  down  against  the  ferry's  sides,  sending 
long,  thudding  shivers  throughout  her  sturdy  little 
frame.  In  such  a  tide  as  that  and  in  such  a  storm, 
no  boats  had  crossed  since  noon.  Now,  freightless 
but  crowded  from  stem  to  stern,  the  captain  was 
putting  out,  to  try  his  chances  with  the  mighty 
river,  swollen  with  storm  and  thick  with  the  ice 
which  rushed  seaward  with  the  ebbing  tide.  The 
snow,  meanwhile,  had  nearly  ceased  to  fall ;  and, 
through  its  scattered  flakes,  the  lights  from  Citadel 
and  terrace  shone  calmly  down,  throwing  their 
placid  beams  across  the  raging,  hissing  river. 

Blanchard's  keen  eyes  were  clouded,  as  he  re- 
joined Rob  inside  the  stuffy  cabin.  Just  once 


310  JANET:   HER    WINTHli 

before  he  had  crossed  the  river  on  such  a  night. 
He  knew  how  to  read  the  captain's  face,  knew,  too, 
the  meaning  of  the  signals  flashed  from  the  ferry- 
house  at  Levis  to  the  distant  shore.  Inside  the 
cabin,  stuffy  as  it  was,  there  was  shelter  from  the 
gale.  Nevertheless,  — 

"  Roll  yourself  up  in  your  rug  and  come  outside," 
he  bade  Rob  briefly.  "A  night  like  this,  the  ice  is 
worth  the  watching." 

And  Rob  found  it  so.  Blanchard  had  led  the  way 
to  a  sheltered  corner  of  the  deck  where,  leaning  on 
the  rail,  Rob  lost  himself,  lost  even  the  conscious- 
ness of  Day,  in  watching  the  fierce  strife  of  winter, 
watching  the  eddying,  whirling  cakes  of  ice,  borne 
down  by  the  tide,  thrown  back  by  the  wind  which 
came  sweeping  up  the  river ;  watching  them  roll  and 
toss  and  grind  together,  now  falling  apart  again,  then 
clinging  in  an  ever-widening  sheet  about  the  ferry's 
bow  and  sides.  No  thought  of  danger  came  to 
him  ;  he  was  exulting  in  his  every  nerve  and  fibre 
in  this  mad  fury  of  the  winter  storm.  And  beside 
him,  Blanchard's  answers  to  his  words  grew  vague 
and  brief,  while  he  watched  with  practised  eye  the 
increasing  coat  of  ice  about  their  keel,  the  increas- 
ing size  of  the  blocks  of  ice  which  came  crashing 
down  against  them,  then  looked  up  at  the  opposite 
shore  to  measure  by  the  dimming  lights  the  speed 
of  their  course,  as  steadily,  surely,  swiftly,  in  spite 


IN  QUEBEC  311 


of  steam  and  steering  gear,  the  plucky  little  ferry 
lost  her  headway  and  was  borne  farther  and  farther 
down  the  stream. 

At  length  Rob  roused  himself  and  framed  an 
objection. 

"  It's  beastly  cold  out  here.  I've  seen  enough. 
What  if  we  go  inside  ?  " 

Blanchard  hesited,  demurred.  Then,  as  one  huge 
black  block  and  another  came  down  upon  them,  he 
turned  and  looked  Rob  straight  between  the  eyes. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  said.     "  We  'd  best  stay  here." 

"  But  why  ?     I  'm  chilled  through  and  through." 

"  I  know."  And  in  that  moment  it  flashed 
through  Rob's  mind  that  his  companion's  uniform 
was  no  mate  for  his  own  fur-lined  coat.  "  It  is 
cold.  Still,  I  think  it  is  safer  here  outside." 

Rob  faced  him  in  surprise. 

"  You  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  and  Blanchard's  steady  touch  was  on 
his  arm ;  "  I  mean,  in  case  things  happen."  Then 
he  forced  the  gravity  from  his  tone  and  laughed 
cheerily.  "  They  probably  won't  happen.  In  any 
case,  I  swim  like  a  fish,  and  I  '11  hang  on  to  you 
and  see  you  safely  over." 

But,  even  as  he  spoke,  both  he  and  Rob  were  well 
aware  that  swimming  in  such  an  ice-locked  tide 
was  something  beyond  the  reach  of  human  power. 

For  one  moment  and  for  one  moment  only,  Rob 


312  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

felt  something  come  up  in  his  throat  and  stop  his 
breath.  Then  he  steadied  himself,  straightened 
his  shoulders  and  laughed  out  in  his  old  cheery 
fashion. 

"  We'll  fight  it  out  together  to  the  end,  Jack," 
he  answered.  Then  silently,  but  with  Blanchard's 
hand  still  on  Rob's  arm,  the  two  young  fellows 
stood  there  waiting,  gazing  out  over  the  ink-black, 
tossing  river. 

Slowly  the  lights  of  the  city  were  dimming  in  the 
distance  ;  slowly  the  ice-sheets  grew  on  bow  and 
stern.  Down  across  the  chilly  air  the  voice  of  the 
captain  came  strident,  his  orders  mingled  with  the 
sound  of  jangling  bells.  The  wheels  of  the  little 
boat  still  beat  the  water ;  but  impotently  now,  for 
progress  meant  the  dragging  with  her  of  many  tons 
of  ice.  And,  if  the  ice  held  firm,  all  might  be  well. 
But  if  it  once  began  to  crumble?  Blanchanl's 
hand  tightened  upon  Rob's  arm.  And  not  even  a 
sound  man  could  swim  ashore  in  such  a  tide,  still 
less  a  fellow  crippled  by  a  football  strain.  And 
the  lights  of  the  Citadel  were  growing  fainter. 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  a  shrill  little  cheer  from 
the  pilot  house  was  answered  by  a  distant  whistle. 
On  the  King's  Wharf  lights  were  stirring  ;  out  from 
the  King's  Wharf  lights  were  starting,  were  being 
swept  down  the  stream  towards  them,  —  swept  fast 
and  steadily.  Through  the  chill,  still  air,  above  the 


IN  QUEBEC  313 


crashing  of  ice-cakes,  there  came  again  the  whistle, 
nearer  now,  and  the  throbbing  of  a  mighty  engine. 
And  the  lights  came  ever  nearer  until,  outlined 
against  the  inky  sky,  a  great  black  bulk  showed 
itself,  dimly  at  first  and  then  with  every  mast  and 
funnel  standing  out  distinct.  And  then,  with  a 
tearing,  rending  noise,  the  huge  ice-breaker  came 
plunging  into  the  floe  which  held  the  ferry  motion- 
less and  impotent,  plunged  into  it,  cut  across  it, 
circled  through  it  in  two  narrowing  arcs  ;  and  then, 
with  a  whistle  of  supreme  content,  it  turned  south- 
ward and,  forging  slowly,  steadily  ahead,  cut  open  a 
wide  pathway  up  the  river  back  to  the  distant  ferry- 
house  once  more. 

But  Jack  Blanchard's  grasp  of  Rob's  arm  never 
relaxed  its  steady,  reassuring  pressure  until  the 
ferry  came  to  her  moorings,  and  Ronald  Leslie, 
huge,  ruddy  and  smiling  at  his  own  good  news, 
came  leaping  over  the  rail  before  the  gang-plank 
had  been  lowered. 


314  JANET:   HER    WINTER 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

you  mean  walk,  or  ride  ?  " 
"  I  meant  to  walk." 

"  To  the  toll-gate  ? " 

"  Why  not  ?  If  need  be,  you  can  bring  me  home 
in  a  cab." 

Janet  departed  without  a  word.  When  she  came 
back,  hat  and  coat  in  hand,  she  spoke. 

"  Rob,"  she  said  ;  "  it 's  too  jolly." 

And  Rob  made  swift  answer, — 

"  No  ;  just  jolly  enough." 

Down  in  his  secret  heart,  though,  Rob  felt  as- 
sured that  nothing  was  jolly  enough  to  account 
for  his  mood,  that  first  morning  in  March.  Life's 
smile  was  broadened  to  a  grin  of  sheer  hilarity. 
Day,  dressed  and  looking  her  old  blithe  self,  had 
come  to  breakfast,  that  morning,  for  the  first  time. 
In  honour  of  the  great  event,  Mrs.  Leslie  had  pre- 
pared an  extra  feast,  and  Ronald  had  delayed  for 
half  an  hour  his  start  down  town,  in  order  to  share 
in  the  general  rejoicing.  There  had  been  a  box 
of  violets  from  Sir  George  Porteous  and,  just  as 
they  were  leaving  the  table,  the  postman  had 


IN   QUEBEC  315 


brought  in  the  New  York  letters.  There  had  been 
three  of  them,  one  for  Ronald  from  Sidney,  and 
two  for  Rob.  The  more  bulky  one  he  had  laid 
aside  to  feast  on  at  his  leisure,  for  it  was  from 
Wade  Winthrop,  and  the  past  three  weeks  had 
taught  Rob  that  Wade  Winthrop's  letters  were 
worthy  to  be  read  with  care  and  more  than  once. 
The  other  was  from  Rob's  New  York  doctor,  short 
and  crispy.  Rob's  hurried  going  from  New  York 
had  left  but  one  course  open :  the  placing  the  case  in 
the  hands  of  a  doctor  in  Quebec,  who  should  keep 
in  constant  communication  with  the  specialist  at 
home.  That  morning's  letter,  called  forth  by  the 
latest  bulletin,  brought  news  of  the  dismissal  of 
the  new  masseuse,  coupled  with  elaborate  instruc- 
tions for  a  series  of  daily  walks,  to  begin  at  once 
and  to  increase  as  time  went  on.  The  letter  closed 
with  a  succinct  phrase :  "  I  have  done  all  I  can. 
Now  it  is  for  you  to  finish  up  your  perfect  cure." 

And,  with  that  phrase  still  ringing  in  his  head, 
Rob  had  risen  and,  coffee  cup  in  hand,  in  an  inco- 
herent speech,  he  had  proposed  the  health  of  Day, 
of  the  New  York  specialist  and  of  the  Exeter  foot- 
ball team.  That  drunk  and  the  chairs  pushed  back 
from  the  table,  Rob  had  gone  in  search  of  his  hat, 
then  of  Janet. 

It  had  been  nearly  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
when  the  cab,  with  Ronald  and  Rob  inside,  had 


316  JAKET:  HER    WINTER 

driven  from  the  ferry-house  up  Mountain  Hill  and 
into  Saint  Louis  Street.  Nevertheless,  even  at 
that  unseemly  hour,  Janet's  nose  had  been  pressed 
against  the  window.  A  moment  later,  Janet's  right 
hand  had  thrown  open  the  door,  her  left  had 
seized  on  Rob's  cold  wrist  and  dragged  him  into 
the  warm,  bright  hall. 

"  She  's  really  and  truthfully  better,  and  I  'm  so 
glad  you've  come  !  Are  you  dead,  you  poor  thing  ? 
She 's  asleep ;  but  she  knew  you  were  on  the  way," 
Janet  whispered  tempestuously.  "  Come  to  the 
library  fire.  I  '11  take  your  coat  and  things." 
And  Rob,  dazed  by  the  light  and  warmth  and  wel- 
come, by  the  sharp  reaction  from  his  fears,  yielded 
and  let  her  fuss  over  him  and  coddle  him  at 
will. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  the  allaying  of  his  active 
fears,  his  heart  sank  again  when  he  learned  how  ill 
Day  had  been,  how  very  ill  she  was  then.  There 
had  been  a  sudden  chill,  followed  by  a  total  neglect 
of  certain  symptoms.  Twenty-four  hours  later, 
Mrs.  Argyle  had  come  back  from  Montreal  to  find 
Day  curled  up  on  her  bed,  her  eyes  glittering  with 
fever,  her  breath  coming  short,  her  cough  incessant. 
The  girl  had  made  light  of  her  cough,  had  main- 
tained a  sturdy  silence  regarding  the  dull  pain  that 
had  settled  on  her  whole  body.  Mrs.  Argyle  had 
waited  until  the  next  morning.  Then  she  had  sent 


IN  QUEBEC  317 


for  a  doctor,  and,  later  in  the  morning,  she  had 
telegraphed  for  her  husband  and  Rob.  Twenty- 
four  hours  later,  the  more  alarming  symptoms 
were  in  check ;  two  weeks  later,  the  disease  and 
the  consequent  weakness  were  still  dragging  out 
their  wonted  course.  Day's  tardy  yielding  to  the 
disease  had  retarded  by  just  so  much  her  yielding 
to  its  cure.  By  the  end  of  the  second  week,  she 
was  still  in  her  own  room. 

Thither  Rob  had  followed  her  as  soon  as  he  was 
allowed  to  do  so,  and  for  as  long.  During  the  first 
days  after  his  return,  however,  he  was  permitted 
in  the  room  only  for  occasional  five-minute  calls. 
The  calls,  elaborately  made  on  the  points  of  his 
toes  and  with  his  heart  in  his  throat,  had  sent  him 
away  from  the  room  again  in  a  mood  of  deepest 
depression.  This  was  no  Day  he  had  ever  known, 
this  wan,  white-faced  thing  with  the  weak  voice 
and  the  lustreless  eyes.  He  stood  and  stared 
down  at  her  dumbly,  then  mumbled  a  word  or  two 
and  fled  from  the  room  before  the  end  of  his  al- 
lotted five  minutes.  Later,  he  walked  his  room  for 
hours  on  end,  or  forced  himself  to  dreary  games  of 
solitaire  wherein  his  question  yes  or  no  was  answered 
by  the  falling  of  the  cards.  And  the  questions 
always  framed  themselves  on  Day's  recovery,  and 
the  answer  was  too  often  no.  Still,  the  cards  could 
never  tell  the  truth ;  and,  at  least,  they  were  better 


318  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

than  trying  to  read.  Then  fate  dealt  him  six  noes 
in  succession,  and  he  rose  to  pace  the  floor  again 
until  it  should  be  time  for  his  next  call. 

In  hours  like  this,  Janet  Leslie  was  his  great 
source  of  consolation.  Full  of  her  old  cordial 
friendliness,  resolved  at  any  cost  to  make  amends 
for  the  black  shadow  she  had  thrown  upon  their 
past  good  times,  the  girl  had  adopted  Rob  Argyle 
as  her  own  especial  care.  Mrs.  Argyle  was  all 
absorbed  in  her  attendance  on  the  nurse  and 
Day,  Mrs.  Leslie  in  her  attendance  upon  Mrs. 
Argyle.  Janet  struck  out  upon  a  new  line  of 
usefulness  and  made  up  her  resolute  young  mind 
that  Rob  needed  attention  as  much  as  any  of  the 
rest.  She  gave  it  to  him  unreservedly.  Now 
she  came  sweeping  in  upon  him,  abolished  his 
cards  and  substituted  a  Latin  exercise  which 
she  claimed  she  could  not  ferret  out  alone. 
Then  she  moved  softly  across  the  twilight-dark- 
ened room,  to  fall  in  step  beside  him  and  talk  to 
him  with  a  steady  persistency  which  broke  down 
his  dreary  mood.  Again,  when  the  tense  quiet  of 
the  afternoon  rest  hour  lay  on  the  house,  she 
coaxed  him  out  for  a  turn  on  the  terrace,  or  a 
ride  around  the  loop  in  the  flat-wheeled  car  that 
clanked  a  monotonous  accompaniment  to  all 
their  random  talk.  And  Rob  came  in,  refreshed 
and  brightened,  from  all  these  little  jaunts. 


IN  QUEBEC  319 


Moreover,  he   carried   the   brightening  with  him, 
later,  when    he   went   in   to   visit   Day. 

Next  to  Janet,  to  his  surprise,  in  these  days 
of  dreary  waiting,  he  turned  to  Ronald.  His 
turning  was  not  wholly  due  to  Ronald's  greeting, 
at  the  end  of  that  tragic  night  of  ice  and  storm. 
In  his  mood,  that  night,  Rob  Argyle  would  have 
sworn  undying  regard  for  anyone  who  brought 
good  news  of  Day.  Ronald's  face  had  been 
enough  to  tell  that,  for  Ronald  himself,  the  news 
brought  no  impersonal  gladness.  Nevertheless, 
in  the  days  which  followed  his  return,  Rob  was 
studying  Ronald  as  never  before,  studying  him 
in  the  light  of  his  long  talks  with  Wade  Win- 
throp  and  with  Sidney  Stayre.  Up  to  that  time, 
although  he  had  had  some  vague  realization  that 
Ronald  had  been  disappointed  by  the  sudden 
reversing  of  all  his  plans,  Rob  had  had  no  real 
notion  of  how  bitter  that  disappointment  was. 
To  his  mind,  college  meant  little  for  a  fellow 
who  did  not  care  to  go  in  for  athletics.  If  the 
grind  were  all,  or  if  society,  he  could  do  those 
of  an  evening,  after  he  had  clambered  down 
from  his  office  stool.  Lacking,  too,  all  knowledge 
of  the  Leslies  in  their  more  prosperous  days,  he 
had  had  scanty  comprehension  of  how  great  in 
comparison  was  their  present  shabbiness,  their 
present  need  for  scrimping.  Until  his  last  long 


320  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

talk  with  Wade,  he  had  supposed  it  was  from  care- 
less choice,  not  stern  necessity,  that  Ronald  wore 
a  last-year  tie  and  forewent  a  hemstitched  bor- 
der to  his  handkerchiefs.  He  had  made  summary 
comment,  one  night,  on  Ronald's  tastelessness  in 
the  minor  articles  of  dress.  Even  now,  he  laughed 
to  himself  as  he  recalled  Sidney's  swift  denuncia- 
tions of  his  comment.  Janet,  in  the  snow-bound 
library,  had  been  scarcely  more  vehement,  more 
sweeping.  Nevertheless,  now  that  he  was  back 
in  Quebec  and  face  to  face  with  the  tall  young 
Canadian,  Rob  could  realize  to  the  full  how  much 
such  petty  denials  could  have  the  power  to  exas- 
perate him.  To  Rob  Argyle,  denied  in  nothing 
save  a  concrete  knowledge  of  the  value  of  money, 
it  seemed  that  it  would  be  far  easier  to  give  up  a 
year  in  Europe  than  to  wear  clothing  of  a  past 
year's  cut.  To  wear  it  at  all  took  some  backbone. 
To  wear  it  and,  still  hating  it,  to  treat  it  with 
seeming  unconsciousness,  in  Rob's  eyes,  amounted 
to  the  heroic.  And,  if  it  were  so  in  the  matter  of 
clothes,  how  about  some  other  things  ? 

In  his  long,  idle  days  of  waiting,  Rob  pondered 
much  upon  the  question.  Strange  to  say,  he  had 
never  discussed  with  Day  this  phase  of  Ronald's 
life.  Rob  had  avoided  the  subject  from  the  inher- 
ent masculine  hatred  of  petty  gossip,  Day  from  a 
sense  that  Ronald's  confidence  had  closed  her 


IN  QUEBEC  321 


lips,  when  otherwise  she  might  have  spoken. 
Now  at  last,  however,  there  seemed  to  have  come 
home  to  Eob  the  consciousness  of  just  what  Ron- 
ald Leslie's  present  life  might  be  meaning  to  him. 

"  We  "re  all  alike,"  he  remarked  to  himself,  one 
night.  "  None  of  us  are  quite  satisfied  with  what 
we  get  out  of  the  grab  bag.  I  hanker  for  the 
gridiron,  Ronald  hankers  for  the  fleshpots. 
Even  Blanchard  has  his  hankerings.  Good  old 
Jack  !  I  wonder  what 's  become  of  him." 

The  wonder  was  answered,  next  day,  when  Rob 
was  summoned  to  the  telephone.  Blanchard,  back 
from  his  run  to  the  south,  had  called  him  up  to 
ask  for  Day  first,  then  for  Rob  himself.  And  Rob 
had  said  to  his  father,  as  he  had  left  the  tele- 
phone, — 

"  Funny  thing  how  you  happen  on  a  man  and, 
all  at  once,  feel  you're  going  to  know  him  al- 
ways !  You  11  never  understand  how  good  that 
fellow  was  to  me,  nor  what  a  gentleman  he 
really  is." 

Nevertheless,  in  his  more  active  gratitude  to 
Blanchard,  Rob  had  some  shreds  left  over  to  give 
to  Ronald  Leslie.  Even  more  than  Janet,  Ronald 
shared  his  anxiety  for  Day,  his  loneliness  without 
her.  Night  after  night,  long  after  Janet  was  in 
bed,  the  two  young  fellows  sat  before  the  library 
fire,  while  Ronald  told  over  to  Rob  all  of  Day's 

21 


322  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

doings  during  the  weeks  he  had  been  away,  told 
him,  too,  of  the  bright,  blithe  comradeship  of 
the  early  fall  when,  sick  and  sore  of  heart,  tired 
of  his  unwonted  confinement  in  the  office,  Day's 
gayety  had  helped  to  hold  him  steady  on  his 
feet.  And  Rob,  in  his  turn,  talked  of  New 
York,  of  Wade  and  of  Sidney,  and  of  their  lik- 
ing for  Ronald.  And  at  last,  one  night,  Rob 
turned  his  steady,  true  blue  eyes  from  the  fire 
and  fixed  them  upon  Ronald's  face. 

"  Old  man,"  he  said ;  "I  'm  not  sure  I  've  always 
been  quite  fair  to  you.  Maybe  you  were  n't  always 
fair  to  me.  We  're  of  two  races,  you  know,  two 
sorts.  Still  —  let 's  shake  hands  on  it,  and  start 
again." 

That  had  been  a  week  before.  And  now,  with 
Janet  at  his  side,  Rob  was  walking  out  the  Grande 
Alle*e,  past  the  cabstand  just  outside  the  Louis  Gate, 
past  the  Parliament  Buildings  and  on  to  the  crest 
of  the  little  ridge  where  Montcalm  drew  up  his 
soldiers,  on  that  far-off,  fateful  September  day. 

Janet  caught  her  breath  a  little,  as  she  went 
down  the  gentle  slope  beyond. 

"  It 's  funny,"  she  said  ;  "  but  I  never  come  out 
here,  without  thinking  I  see  it  all.  When  I  was  a 
little  bit  of  a  girl,  before  I  knew  they  fought  on 
foot,  I  used  to  think  I  could  hear  their  horses  gal- 
loping. But  just  think,  Rob  Argyle !  Right  here 


IN  QUEBEC  323 


in  the  city,  where  we  go  to  walk  and  where  our 
friends  all  live,  those  two  great  nations  had  their 
last  pitched  battle.  Does  n't  it  make  you  shiver  ?  " 

Rob  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat. 

"  Not  half  so  much  as  this  beastly  wind  does," 
he  returned  prosaically. 

Janet  frowned.  Her  father  had  been  an  histo- 
rian spoiled  in  the  making.  The  girl's  earliest 
bedtime  stories  had  concerned  themselves  with  that 
battle-ground. 

"  How  tiresome  you  are !  "  she  said,  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  I  suppose  it  is  because  I  was  born  here 
that  I  care  for  it.  I  never  pass  that  field,"  her 
finger  pointed  towards  the  left ;  "  without  thinking 
that  Wolfe  was  shot  there  in  his  brand-new  uni- 
form, nor  come  inside  the  Louis  Gate  without  re- 
membering the  French  woman  standing  there  who 
cried  out  that  her  general  was  killed.  It 's  no  use. 
You  strangers  never  feel  it."  She  began  to  laugh 
again.  "Did  Day  write  you  about  the  afternoon 
we  took  Sir  George  Porteous  out  to  the  Cove  ?  " 

Rob  shook  his  head.  In  spite  of  the  biting  wind 
and  of  his  endeavours  to  stand  upright  on  the 
slippery  pavements,  his  whole  attention  had  been 
concentrated  upon  Janet,  upon  her  eager  face  and 
upon  her  enthusiasm  of  the  moment  before. 

"  She  did  n't  ?  It  was  worth  a  letter.  You  see, 
I  know  the  ground,  every  inch  of  it,  and  love  it," 


324  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

she  explained.  "My  father  nearly  wrote  a  book 
about  it ;  and  he  used  to  bring  ine  here  and  talk  to 
me,  until  I  almost  felt  as  if  it  were  my  very  own, 
like  something  that  had  happened  to  me.  Ronald 
and  I  brought  Day  out  here,  just  before  you  came, 
last  fall.  It's  a  splendid  walk,  out  across  the 
Plains,  and  through  the  woods  and  over  some  fences, 
till  you  come  to  the  path.  Day  loved  it,  and  she 
thought  it  would  be  fun  to  take  Sir  George.  We 
went  out  on  suowshoes,  and  he  had  a  fearful  time, 
lost  his  shoes  off,  every  other  step.  And,  when  we' 
got  him  there  and  expected  him  to  be  thrilled, 
what  do  you  think  he  said  ? " 

Again  Rob  shook  his  head.  He  was  still  watch- 
ing the  eager  face,  still  held  by  the  eager  flow  of 
words. 

"  He  said,"  Janet  giggled,  as  she  took  on  Sir 
George's  level  voice ;  " '  Came  up  here,  by  George  ? 
Why  did  n't  the  poor  chap  wait  and  build  some 
steps?'" 

"  Look  here,  Janet,"  Rob  said  suddenly,  as  they 
turned  away  from  the  simple  shaft  that  marks 
Wolfe's  victorious  death ;  "  why  don't  you  write 
about  it  all  ?  I  don't  mean  now,  of  course ;  but 
sometime." 

Janet's  colour  came,  and  went.  Then  she  low- 
ered her  eyes,  while,  half  unconsciously,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  Rob's  arm  to  steady  him  over  the 


IN  QUEBEC  325 


uneven  path  which  leads  back  to  the  Grande 
Allfe. 

"  I  used  to  think  I  would,"  she  said  slowly. 
"  But  now  I  can't." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  —  it  went,  with  all  the  rest  of  it." 

Her  cadence  was  a  falling  one.  In  it,  Rob  read 
the  presence  of  a  secret  he  had  never  guessed. 

"  What  went  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Shall  we  take  the  car?  No?  You  are  sure 
you  can  walk  back  ?  I  mean  my  little  plan,"  she 
answered,  with  her  eyes  still  on  the  ground. 

"  What  plan  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  Did  n't  you  know  ?  I  thought  Sidney  might 
have  told  you.  She  is  going  to  college;  just  the 
last  day  or  two  we  were  together,  she  began  to 
talk  to  me  about  it,  to  tease  my  mother  to  say  I 
might  go,  too.  Mother  would  n't  say.  I  suppose 
now  that  she  could  n't ;  but,  the  night  after  I  came 
home,  the  very  night  before  —  " 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Rob  assented  gently,  for  the 
little  quaver  in  Janet's  resolute  young  voice  struck 
sadly  on  his  ears. 

Janet  swallowed  hard,  for  a  moment. 

"  That  very  last  night,"  she  went  on  bravely, 
then  ;  "  I  had  a  talk  with  my  father.  He  was  so 
dear.  He  always  was,  but  most  so  then.  He  told 
me  he  was  n't  sure  he  could  arrange  it ;  but  that 
he  wished  he  could.  And  then  he  told  me —  " 


326  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

This  time,  although  the  quaver  came  again,  Rob 
made  no  effort  to  speak.  His  eyes  were  dark, 
dark  blue,  as  he  looked  out  across  the  distant 
southern  mountains.  Janet  broke  the  silence, 
suddenly,  resolutely. 

"  He  told  me  it  had  always  been  his  dream  to 
have  one  of  his  children  finish  up  his  work  and 
write  the  book.  He  had  supposed  it  would  be 
Ronald,  for  boys  are  usually  the  ones  who  do  such 
things ;  but  Ronald  was  all  for  science  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  And  now,  if  I  felt  I  could  do  it, 
would  love  to  do  it,  he  would  give  me  all  the  train- 
ing I  could  get,  to  fit  me  for  it.  All  the  next 
night  and  day,  I  dreamed  about  it,  dreamed  and 
thought.  I  was  just  sitting  down  to  write  to 
Sidney,  when  —  when  Ronald  came  and  told  us." 

Rob's  left  hand  had  been  buried  in  the  fur-lined 
pocket  of  his  coat.  He  took  it  out  and,  regard- 
less of  who  saw  him,  gave  Janet's  hand  a  hearty 
squeeze. 

"  You  '11  do  it  yet,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head. 

« I  can't." 

Rob  laughed  at  her  tone. 

"  I  never  heard  you  say  that  till  now,  Janet,"  he 
admonished  her,  with  a  swift  return  to  his  wonted 
buoyancy.  "  A  fellow  can  do  anything  he  tries,  if 
he  grits  his  teeth  and  goes  to  work." 


IN  QUEBEC  327 


"  A  fellow  can't  make  money,  where  there  is  n't 
any,"  she  answered  him. 

"Pm  not  so  sure  of  that.  Besides,  it  doesn't 
take  much,"  Rob  reassured  her  optimistically. 

"  Not  much,  if  you  have  a  lot,"  she  responded 
quaintly ;  "  but  a  great  deal,  when  you  haven't 
any.  Besides,  your  colleges  cost  more  than  ours." 

"  Then  go  to  yours,"  Rob  advised  her  promptly. 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"  You  want  to  go  with  Sidney,  I  suppose.  You 
know  Day  is  going,  too.  She'll  go  to  Smith." 

"  That  is  Sidney's  College,"  Janet  assented  list- 
lessly. "It's  where  I  wanted,  meant  to  go." 

"  But,  if  McGill  is  cheaper  ?  " 

She  roused  herself  and  spoke  with  spirit. 

"  I  don't  want  McGill.  My  father  did  n't,  either. 
If  I  am  to  do  his  work,  I  must  learn  to  see  all 
sides,  not  sit  down  and  look  at  it  from  a  hummock 
on  the  Cove  Fields.  If  I  go  to  McGill,  I  shall  see 
our  side  and  nothing  else.  I  love  my  Canada ; 
it 's  the  best  country  in  the  world.  Still,  I  won't 
do  my  father's  work,  unless  I  can  do  it  in  the  very 
best  way,  and  the  only  way  to  do  that  is  to  learn 
to  look  at  it  from  a  little  farther  off." 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  Janet's  girl- 
islmess  had  fallen  from  her.  She  spoke  with  the 
purpose,  with  the  steady  fire  of  a  grown-up  woman. 
Rob,  looking  down  upon  her  as  she  tramped  for- 


328  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

ward  at  his  side,  was  conscious,  in  that  moment, 
of  a  new-born  admiration,  less  for  what  Janet  was 
than  for  what  she  might  be  in  the  future  years. 
At  last  lie  spoke,  and  his  voice  was  full  of  hearty 
approbation. 

"  I  think  you'll  make  it  in  the  end,  Janet.  Some- 
thing will  come  up  to  help  you  put  it  through." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  be  helped,"  she  made  un- 
daunted answer. 

Laughing  a  little,  Rob  held  up  his  stick  before 
her. 

"  Sometimes  a  little  help  is  useful,"  he  told  her 
gayly.  "  At  least,  it  steadies  us  until  we  can  get 
back  on  our  feet  again."  Then  the  laughter  left 
his  eyes,  and  he  looked  down  at  her  with  the  kindly 
smile  of  an  older  brother.  "  Go  on,  Janet,"  he 
bade  her  gravely.  "  You  '11  win  out  in  the  end,  if 
you  '11  only  stick  to  your  plan."  And,  years  after- 
ward, they  laughed  together  over  his  prophecy  and 
its  fulfilment. 


IN  QUEBEC  329 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

THREE  weeks  later,  as  Ronald  came  up  from 
the  office  for  the  Saturday  half-holiday,  an 
unwonted  mood  of  buoyancy  lay  upon  him,  making 
even  the  rivulets  in  the  streets,  sloppy  with  the 
first  spring  thaw,  matters  of  small  account.  For 
two  or  three  weeks,  the  office  had  been  coming 
upon  Ronald's  nerves :  the  early  punctuality  of 
his  morning  start  down  town,  the  long,  dull  day 
which  began  and  ended  under  the  electric  lights, 
the  growing  responsibility  of  business  which  had 
been  thrown  upon  him  after  his  last  talk  with  his 
chief,  the  care  and  anxiety,  growing  even  faster, 
as  to  whether  the  contents  of  the  coal-bin  would 
outlast  an  abnormally  severe  winter :  all  these  had 
worn  upon  him  and  strained  his  nerves  to  their 
utmost  tension.  Under  the  wear  and  tear  of 
small  worries  which  concerned  themselves  with 
the  length  of  life  of  his  shoes  and  gloves,  witli  the 
least  possible  amount  of  draft  which  could  be 
given  to  the  furnace,  his  step  was  losing  its  alert- 
ness, his  rich  colour  was  fading  a  little,  his  shoul- 
ders were  less  erect.  By  steady  self-control,  he 


330  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

kept  his  temper  level ;  but  the  winter,  long  and 
pitiless,  had  told  upon  his  sense  of  humour.  He 
talked  less,  and  he  left  to  Rob  and  Janet  the  spar- 
ring which  enlivened  the  hours  at  table.  Now  and 
then,  as  the  clock  struck  two,  and  then  three,  and 
then  four,  he  rolled  over  on  his  pillow  and  wondered 
what  would  be  the  end  of  it  all.  And  Mr.  Argyle 
was  talking  of  returning  home  at  Easter.  There 
would  be  three  long  months,  before  the  summer 
tide  of  boarders  would  set  in,  even  supposing  that 
his  mother  would  feel  herself  able  to  cope  with  the 
transient  tourist  tribe. 

That  noon,  however,  with  a  sudden  and  unac- 
countable rush,  all  depression  had  fled  from 
Ronald's  mood.  With  his  head  held  high,  his 
tread  ringing  out  upon  the  pavement,  he  went 
tramping  up  the  hill  towards  home.  It  was  some- 
thing that  his  tread  could  ring  out  on  any  pave- 
ment, so  long  had  the  walks  been  muffled  in  their 
winter  coats.  The  streets  which  led  to  Lower 
Town  were  crossed  and  crossed  again  by  threads 
of  running  water ;  and  the  sky  above,  a  clear 
Italian  blue,  held  in  its  tints  the  promise  of  an 
early  spring.  Ronald's  tread  grew  even  more  alert, 
as  he  ran  up  the  steps  at  home  and  fitted  his  latch- 
key in  the  T-shaped  hole.  It  was  a  glorious  day. 
He  would  lure  Rob  out  for  the  longest  possible 
walk. 


IN  QUEBEC  331 


To  his  surprise,  he  found  Sir  George  Porteous 
enthroned  before  the  library  fire.  Rob,  in  a  chair 
at  the  opposite  end  of  the  rug,  was  making  heroic 
efforts  to  keep  the  conversation  going ;  but  it  was 
plain  to  Ronald's  eye  that  Sir  George  was  low  in 
his  mind,  and  that  Rob's  benevolent  efforts  were 
fast  coming  to  an  end.  Rob  Argyle  was  broad- 
minded  and  open  to  conviction.  He  had  been 
quite  ready  to  take  Jack  Blanchard,  Pullman 
hireling  though  he  was,  upon  familiar,  friendly 
terms.  Not  all  the  broad-mindedness  in  the  world, 
however,  could  make  Rob  understand  the  new 
position  of  Sir  George  Porteous  inside  the  Leslie 
home. 

"  I  never  yearned  to  own  a  monkey,  myself,"  he 
confided  to  Day,  one  night.  "  Still,  if  you  must 
keep  one,  I  'm  glad  he  never  fails  to  be  amusing." 

Nevertheless,  if  only  out  of  deference  to  his 
mother's  wish,  Rob  treated  Sir  George  with  a 
scrupulous  courtesy  whose  only  lapses  were  marked 
by  occasional  hasty  retreats  from  the  room. 

"  I  've  a  beastly  cough,  you  know,"  Rob  had 
said,  by  way  of  explanation  of  one  such  exit.  "  It 
seems  to  hang  on  me,  too.  I  begin  to  think  I 
sha'n't  get  rid  of  it,  until  I'm  back  in  New  York." 

As  Ronald's  step  sounded  in  the  hall,  Sir  George 
sat  up  in  his  chair  and  betook  himself  to  his  eye- 
glass. 


332  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  Oh,  it 's  you  ;  is  it  ?  I  came  to  see  you.  How 
do  you  do  ?  "  he  explained,  when  Ronald  appeared 
upon  the  library  threshold. 

"  Glad  to  see  you."  Ronald  nodded  affably,  for 
his  buoyant  mood  was  still  upon  him.  "  Where 
have  you  been  keeping  yourself,  this  last  week  ?  " 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  Sir  George  announced 
sombrely. 

And  Rob,  choking,  fled  from  the  room. 

It  was  merciful,  perhaps,  that  he  did  flee,  for 
Ronald,  disconcerted  by  his  hurried  exit,  fitted  his 
reply  to  the  accent  of  Sir  George,  rather  than  to 
his  words. 

"  I  'm  sorry,"  he  said  politely. 

And  then  silence  fell. 

Sir  George  broke  the  silence,  but  only  after  a 
long  interval. 

"  I  'm  in  a  regular  brute  of  a  mess,"  he  said. 

Swiftly  Ronald's  mind  journeyed  to  and  fro  from 
policemen  to  usurers.  Sir  George  scarcely  seemed 
a  roistering  blade,  neither  was  he  likely  to  be  in 
financial  difficulties.  Ronald's  mind  leaped  for- 
ward and  took  its  stand  upon  a  third  alternative. 
Sir  George  must  be  in  love. 

*A 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  repeated.  "  Can  I  be  of  any 
use?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  Sir  George  responded 
blankly.  "  My  uncle  is  dead." 


IN   QUEBEC  333 


The  matter-of-course  announcement,  coupled  with 
the  fact  of  his  twice  having  used  the  same  phrase 
of  sympathy,  hampered  Ronald's  tongue. 

"  How  very  sad  ! "  he  said  at  length. 

Sir  George  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  You  find  it  so  ? "  he  queried  dispassionately. 

"Of  course.     Don't  you?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Why  should  I  ?  He  was  so  old,  you 
know,  and  had  lost  his  mind  and  the  use  of  his 
legs,"  Sir  George  made  tranquil  explanation.  "  It 
was  n't  sudden  in  the  least." 

"  How  did  you  hear  ?  "  Ronald  inquired  politely, 
although  somewhat  at  a  loss  how  to  frame  his 
condolences. 

"  They  cabled.  You  see,  I  inherit,"  Sir  George 
explained,  with  utter  nonchalance. 

"Inherit?" 

"  Yes,  the  title,  and  the  estates,  and  all  that. 
I  '11  have  to  be  going  home.  There  's  the  mess." 

Ronald's  face  cleared  a  little,  as  he  grasped  what 
appeared  to  be  the  only  clue  to  Sir  George's 
depression. 

"  And  you  hate  to  say  good-by  to  us,  Sir  George  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  don't  mind  about  that,"  Sir  George 
gave  disconcerting  answer. 

"  But  you  feel  badly  about  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ;  it 's  not  that,  either.  I  never  saw  him 
but  once.  He  was  a  queer  old  duck,  and  he  and 


334  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

my  father  had  a  row,"  Sir  George  made  still  more 
disconcerting  answer. 

"  Then  what  do  you  mind  ? "  Ronald  asked 
bluntly.  "  I  don't  see  that  you  have  much  cause 
to  complain." 

His  head  immovable  against  the  back  of  his 
chair,  Sir  George  allowed  his  eyes  to  follow  the 
tall  figure  of  his  companion  who  had  risen  impa- 
tiently and  gone  to  pacing  the  rug.  His  jaw, 
meanwhile,  sagged  slightly,  and  his  expression 
was  one  of  tranquil  complacency. 

"  I  'in  feeling  fussed,"  he  said  at  length.  "  It 
really  is  a  brute  of  a  mess." 

"  What  is  ?  "  Ronald  demanded,  while  he  halted 
midway  of  the  rug  and  rested  his  elbow  beside  the 
clock  on  the  mantel. 

"  It  all,"  Sir  George  explained.  "  My  going 
home,  and  the  things  I  '11  do,  when  I  get  there." 

Ronald  curbed  his  impatience.  Never  had  Sir 
George  appeared  more  futile ;  never,  though,  had 
he  been  more  plainly  worried.  Suddenly  he  looked 
up  with  a  smile. 

"  That 's  what  I  want  of  you,  you  know,"  he 
added. 

Ronald  stared. 

«  What  is  ?  " 

"  To  do  the  things." 

"What  things?" 


IN   QUEBEC  335 


"  The  things  to  be  done  at  home." 

This  time,  Ronald  permitted  himself  to  laugh. 

"  But  I  'm  not  inheriting,  Sir  George." 

The  next  moment  his  conscience  smote  him,  for 
Sir  George's  glance  was  appealing,  his  voice  full  of 
pathos. 

"  No,"  he  assented.  "  I  only  wish  you  did,  you 
know.  You  'd  do  it  better  than  I  can." 

Ronald  dropped  down  again  into  his  chair. 

"  Don't  worry,  Sir  George,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Of 
course,  I  know  at  first  there  '11  be  a  lot  of  care  and 
responsibility.  But  it  will  get  itself  to  running 
easily  enough  in  time." 

Sir  George's  face  cleared  at  Ronald's  change  of 
tone. 

"  That 's  what  I  said  to  myself,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"  I  sat  and  thought,  and  thought.  All  at  once,  it 
came  like  a  flash,  and  I  said,  ' Leslie's  the  very 
fellow.'  " 

"  Thanks,"  Ronald  said.     "  For  what  ? " 

"  To  get  things  running.  You  see,"  Sir  George 
fell  to  checking  the  items  on  his  fingers  ;  "  there  's 
the  town  house,  and  the  country  place,  and  the 
tenants'  dinner,  and  the  hunt  ball,  and  the  — " 
He  paused  and  sought  the  corners  of  his  mind. 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  There  's  the  mourning  liveries 
and  that.  That 's  why  I  want  you,"  he  added  help- 
lessly. "  I  don't  know  about  such  things." 


336  JANET:   HER    WINTI-l! 

"  Nor  I,"  Ronald  asserted  with  energy. 

"  Oh,  no ;  but  you  can  learn." 

"  And  so  will  you,"  Ronald  suggested. 
But  Sir  George  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't.  I  can't  learn  things,"  he  said,  and 
there  came  a  sadness  in  his  tone.  "  I  know  it, 
know  it  as  well  as  you  do.  I  was  plucked  at  col- 
lege, and  they  tried  to  buy  me  into  the  army  ;  but 
I  could  n't  make  that,  either.  I  'd  like  to  be  clever 
like  you,  you  know ;  but  I  fancy  I  never  could.  And 
now  look  at  me!"  And  Ronald,  looking,  was  as- 
tounded at  the  sudden  determination  in  Sir  George's 
face.  "  Here  I  am,  not  clever  in  the  least,  and  I  've 
just  come  into  one  of  the  largest  estates  in  Eng- 
land. And,  by  George  !  "  Sir  George  added,  in  a 
desperate  outburst ;  "  what  am  I  going  to  do  with 
it,  now  I  Ve  got  it  ?  " 

"Manage  it,"  Ronald  said,  with  an  optimism 
which  he  was  far  from  feeling. 

Sir  George  spoke  again.  This  time  his  tone  be- 
tokened a  steady  determination. 

"  With  you,"  he  said. 

Ronald  looked,  as  he  felt,  bewildered. 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Come  home  with  me,  as  my  secretary." 

"  I  can't." 

"  Why  not  ?  "    The  determination  was  still  there. 

"  Impossible.  I  'in  tied  up  here  with  mother  and 
Janet." 


IN  QUEBEC  337 


Sir  George's  jaw  shut,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
stood  looking  down  at  the  young  Canadian. 

"  There  's  the  salary,  too,  you  know,"  he  said, 
and  he  named  the  sum. 

"  Sir  George,  I  never  could  take  that." 

"  But  it 's  what  it 's  worth  to  me.  Listen  ! "  He 
raised  his  hand,  white  and  shapely  and  marked  with 
a  single  ring,  a  crest  in  its  plain  setting.  "  I  can't 
do  it  alone,  you  know.  I  have  no  head  for  business. 
I  can  do  the  social  things,  drink  tea  and  dance. 
Perhaps,  with  you  to  coach  me,  I  could  even 
do  the  politics.  But  the  business  would  be  in  no 
end  of  a  mess.  I  must  have  some  fellow  to  do 
it  for  me,  and  there 's  no  fellow  else  I  want,  you 
know." 

"  But  if  I  can't  ?  "  Ronald  said  slowly. 

Sir  George's  accent  lost  its  determination  and 
took  on  a  new  tone,  one  of  pleading. 

"  I  don't  like  many  fellows,"  he  explained,  simply 
as  a  child  might  have  done.  "  I  took  to  you  that 
first  night  at  dinner,  and  I  've  liked  you  ever  since. 
You  never  chaff,  you  know,  and  —  "  the  words  came 
with  a  dropping  cadence ;  "  and  any  fellow  gets  a 
bit  tired  of  being  chaffed." 

And  even  Ronald's  direct  gaze  fell  before  the 
steady,  trusting  eyes. 

"Sir  George,"  he  said  at  length;  "I'm  sorry. 

I  wish  I  could  go." 

22 


338  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  You  'd  like  it,  then  ?  "  Sir  George  made  eager 
question. 

Ronald  reflected  swiftly,  swiftly  balanced  all  the 
pros  and  cons. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  honestly  then.  "  Yes,  I  'd 
like  it.  Still,  it  is  quite  impossible." 

"  Really,  I  don't  see  why." 

Ronald  looked  up. 

"  I  'm  not  for  myself  alone,"  he  answered. 
"  There  's  Janet  and  my  mother." 

Standing  bolt  upright  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
Sir  George  compressed  his  lips  until  the  wrinkles 
were  graven  deeply  in  his  cheeks.  Then  of  a 
sudden  he  faced  about  and  started  for  the  door. 

"  I  say,"  he  exclaimed  alertly  ;  "  I  say,  let 's  ask 
them  now."  And,  before  Ronald  could  stop  him, 
he  had  crossed  the  hall  and  knocked  on  the  dining- 
room  door. 

Late  that  night  and  for  two  nights  after,  the 
Leslie  library  became  the  scene  of  such  a  detailed 
argument  as  its  walls  had  never  known  till  then. 
After  her  first  consternation  at  the  thought  of 
losing  her  oldest-born  child  out  of  the  home,  Mrs. 
Leslie  had  thrown  herself,  heart  and  soul,  upon  the 
side  of  Sir  George  Porteous.  The  offered  salary, 
she  confessed  to  herself,  was  abnormally  large. 
Nevertheless,  mother-like,  she  looked  beyond  that, 
far  beyond.  To  one  like  Ronald,  steady,  earnest, 


IN  QUEBEC  339 


there  would  be  by  far  more  education  in  the  new 
life  offered  him  than  in  years  of  McGill  and  gradu- 
ate schools.  Moreover,  she  had  been  by  no  means 
blind  to  the  way  even  Ronald's  vigorous  young 
strength  was  faltering  before  the  rigid  confinement 
of  his  office  life.  Sir  George's  offer  would  bring 
him  freedom  from  the  deadly  routine  which  led 
nowhere  ;  while  she  had  assured  herself,  both  by 
her  own  observations  and  by  the  careful  inquiries 
of  Mr.  Argyle,  that  Sir  George's  influence,  while 
not  exactly  stimulating,  would  yet  be  upon  the  side 
of  cleanly,  man- like  living.  She  urged  the  new 
position  upon  Ronald  with  all  the  fervour  of  the 
same  iron  will  which,  months  before,  had  led  her, 
even  in  the  first  shadow  of  her  grief,  to  open  her 
home  to  the  Argyles. 

To  her  will,  however,  Ronald  opposed  one  just 
as  firm.  He  was  in  no  way  deceived  by  her  state- 
ments that  she  would  be  happier  with  him  in  Eng- 
land ;  it  was  no  part  of  his  plan  to  go  to  live  in  the 
comparative  luxury  of  his  offered  surroundings,  and 
leave  his  mother  and  Janet  to  tug  on  alone.  Had 
he  been  wholly  free,  he  would  have  leaped  at  the 
chance  to  go,  would  have  grasped  it  with  both 
hands.  Like  his  mother,  he  had  been  quick  to  see 
its  opportunities  for  his  growth.  Nevertheless,  he 
had  also  seen  the  blue-white  ring  come  into  sight 
about  his  mother's  lips,  when  Sir  George,  with  un- 


340  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

wonted  directness,  had  stated  to  her  his  need  of 
Ronald's  services.  He  stoutly  refused  to  listen  to 
one  single  word  in  favour  of  his  going. 

For  two  whole  evenings  and  a  fraction  of  the 
third,  the  tide  of  argument  ebbed  and  flowed.  At 
last,  however,  late  upon  the  third  evening,  Janet 
flung  herself  headlong  into  the  discussion. 

"Ronald?" 

Ronald  had  been  pacing,  pacing  the  floor.  Now 
he  turned  sharply  to  face  his  sister,  as  she  sat 
curled  up  in  a  deep  chair,  her  feet  tucked  under 
her  and  her  hands  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap. 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  If  mother  were  dead  and  I  were  in  college, 
what  should  you  do  ?  " 

"  Janet !  "  he  rebuked  her  sharply. 

"  Well,  I  know.  But  we  are  n't,  and  my  sup- 
posing it  doesn't  make  us  so;  does  it,  mummy? 
But  what  should  you  do  ? " 

Ronald  shut  his  lips  until  his  face  was  lined  with 
two  deep  creases,  not  unlike  those  of  Sir  George. 

"  Go,"  he  said  shortly. 

Janet  unclasped  her  hands,  leaned  her  elbows  on 
the  chair-arm  and  put  her  chin  on  her  palms.  For 
an  instant,  she  watched  him,  while  she  beat  a 
tattoo  on  either  cheek.  Then,  — 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  'd  have  nothing  to  keep  me  here." 


IN  QUEBEC  341 


Far  back  in  Janet's  eyes  there  came  a  mocking 
gleam. 

"  Thanks,  dear  boy  !  But,  even  then,  you  just 
said  you  didn't  want  to  go,  in  any  case." 

Fairly  cornered,  Ronald  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak,  then  shut  it,  speechless.  Again  Janet 
watched  him.  Then  she  slid  out  of  her  chair, 
crossed  the  rug  and  slipped  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Brother,"  she  said  slowly  ;  "  it  will  half  kill  me 
to  have  you  go  ;  and  yet  I  want  to  have  you  do  it. 
It  is  the  best  thing  for  you,  the  best  thing  and  the 
biggest.  If  you  like  it  over  there,  some  day  you 
can  send  for  mummy  and  me,  and  we  '11  all  live 
there  together.  We  are  English,  you  know,  just 
as  English  as  Sir  George  is.  It  may  be  like  a 
going  home  for  you.  You've  always  said  you 
liked  Sir  George,  in  spite  of  his  queerness.  He 's 
been  good  to  you,  to  us  all.  Now,  for  a  while,  you 
can  be  good  to  him.  And,  besides,  if  you  truth- 
fully don't  like  it,  you  can  always  take  the  first 
steamer  that  sails  for  home.  Only,"  her  voice 
broke  a  little ;  "  only  send  us  word  in  time,  so  we 
can  get  the  fattest  calf  that  ever  lived." 

"But  you  and  mother,"  Ronald  urged. 

Janet's  chin  rose  in  the  air. 

"  I  will  look  out  for  mother,"  she  said  conclu- 
sively. And  she  kept  her  word. 

Nevertheless,  the  tide  of  argument  rose  again, 


342  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

and  again  it  ebbed.  However,  each  ebbing  and 
flowing  now  was  only  washing  them  nearer  to  one 
fixed  point,  and  that  point  was  Ronald's  going. 

Janet  accompanied  her  brother,  the  next  even- 
ing, when  he  set  out  to  the  Chateau,  to  acquaint 
Sir  George  with  his  decision.  The  decision  had 
been  wrung  from  him  with  infinite  toil,  and  Janet 
had  no  mind  to  have  that  toil  set  at  naught  by  any 
possible  change  in  Ronald's  intention.  Back  in  the 
depths  of  her  girlish  brain,  she  had  settled  the 
point  for  herself  once  and  for  all.  Ronald  must 
go.  It  was  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,  not  only  in 
itself,  but  for  the  sake  of  other  chances  which 
might  come  in  its  train.  Janet  already  looked 
upon  Ronald  as  the  coming  premier  of  England. 
Mrs.  Leslie  took  the  case  more  simply.  She 
regarded  Ronald  as  facing  a  future  which  held  in 
its  grasp  more  opportunity  than  anything  she  had 
it  in  her  power  to  offer.  Mother-like,  she  was 
willing  to  endure  his  absence  for  tbe  sake  of  what 
that  absence  might  do  for  him.  Like  Janet,  she 
was  wholly  resolved  upon  his  going.  Like  Janet, 
she  feared  his  promise  would  be  revoked  in  the 
end,  and  she  had  hailed  gladly  Janet's  suggestion 
of  acting  as  his  escort. 

They  found  Sir  George  in  the  main  drawing- 
room,  lounging  on  the  circular  divan  which  rings 
the  central  pillar.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the 


IN  QUEBEC  343 


ceiling ;  but  his  mouth,  slightly  ajar,  stirred  now 
and  then,  as  if  speaking  words  relating  to  the 
obvious  anxiety  which  furrowed  the  brow  above. 
Clothed  from  head  to  foot  in  decorous  and  sombre 
black,  Sir  George  looked  a  very  youthful  and 
a  futile  heir  to  all  the  responsibility  which  awaited 
him ;  and  Janet,  as  she  studied  him,  did  not  wonder 
that,  in  view  of  what  was  now  before  him,  he  was 
putting  off  from  day  to  day  the  engaging  of  his 
passage  home. 

Absorbed  in  his  silent  communings,  Sir  George 
paid  no  heed  to  their  coming ;  and,  quite  unseen, 
they  paused  close  at  his  side.  Then, — 

"  Sir  George,"  said  Janet. 

Sir  George  started  abruptly. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  I  say,  how  do  you  do  ?  I  was  think- 
ing about  you.  Sit  down."  And,  as  they  obeyed 
his  hospitable  bidding,  Sir  George  apparently 
returned  to  his  former  meditation,  for  no  further 
word  fell  from  his  moving  lips. 

Once,  twice,  Ronald  started  to  speak.  But  he 
checked  the  impulse,  checked  it  in  sheer  dread  of 
all  to  which  his  speech  was  sure  to  bind  him. 
Then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  straightened  his  shoulders, 
and  resolutely,  courageously  looked  the  future  in 
the  eyes. 

"•  Sir  George,"  he  said  briefly;  "  I  came,  to-night, 
to  tell  you  that  I  have  made  my  decision.  I  accept 


344  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

your  offer,  and  I  am  ready  to  sail  when  you  see 
fit." 

Slowly  the  vacant  gaze  of  Sir  George  gathered 
itself  to  a  focus  upon  Ronald  Leslie's  strong  young 
face,  gathered  to  a  focus,  then  lighted  with  sudden, 
earnest  pleasure.  Then  he  sank  back  in  his  seat 
again,  as  if,  for  him,  anxiety  were  at  an  end. 

"  How  rummy  !  "  said  Sir  George  Porteous. 


IN  QUEBEC  345 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

"QHABBY!     Shabby!   Shabby!"   Janet   said, 

k]3  in  an  abrupt  wave  of  disgust. 

An  elderly  glove  in  one  hand,  a  threaded  needle 
in  the  other,  Janet  was  settled  in  Mrs.  Argyle's 
sitting-room.  Mrs.  Argyle  glanced  up,  at  the 
sudden  desperation  in  the  girl's  tone. 

"  What  is  it,  Janet  ?  "  she  asked  kindly. 

Janet  forced  herself  to  laugh  ;  but  the  laugh 
was  not  quite  steady. 

"  Nothing ;  only  my  gloves  are  so  tender  that 
they  won't  hold  the  stitches,"  she  answered. 

Mrs.  Argyle  laid  down  her  own  work. 

"  Let  me  see.  Did  you  ever  try  to  mend 
gloves  with  a  buttonhole  stitch  ?  "  she  asked,  with 
the  practicality  which  years  of  riches  had  been 
powerless  to  blunt.  "  They  hold  better  so.  Let 
me  try." 

Janet  shook  her  head. 

"  Really,  they  are  so  awful  that  I  hate  to  have 
you  see  them,"  she  protested. 

Mrs.  Argyle  laughed. 

"  When  I  was  your  age,  Janet,  I  wore  shabbier 


346  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

gloves  than  you  ever  dreamed  of  having,"  she 
answered. 

"  You  could  n't.  They  would  n't  have  held 
together,"  Janet  said  flatly.  Nevertheless,  she 
put  an  aged  ruin  into  Mrs.  Argyle's  outstretched 
hand.  "  Mrs.  Argyle,"  she  added  desperately ; 
"  I  do  hate  to  be  shabby.  I  am  willing  to  wear 
plain  things ;  but  I  do  want  them  whole." 

From  the  other  side  of  the  room,  Day  laughed 
a  little  unfeelingly. 

"  When  the  worst  really  comes,  Janet,  I 
advise  you  to  economize  on  your  stockings," 
she  suggested. 

Janet  thrust  out  one  slim  ankle  and  surveyed 
it  with  swift  disdain. 

u  But  I  can't,"  she  said.  "  These  are  the 
cheapest  that  are  made,  the  cheapest  that  are 
worth  the  darning." 

"Cheap!"  Day's  voice  was  expressive.  "I 
never  wear  such  stockings." 

"  No,"  Janet  said  composedly  ;  "  I  suppose  you 
don't." 

"Then  I  don't  see  why  you  should  plead  pov- 
erty," Day  said  again.  "  We  are  n't  poor,  and 
I  adore  pretty  stockings ;  but  I  can't  afford  any 
sucli  embroidery  as  that." 

Onoe  more  Janet  thrust  out  her  slim,  violet- 
sprinkled  ankle.  Then  she  laughed. 


IN  QUEBEC  347 


"  Oh,  is  that  what  you  are  driving  at  ? "  she 
asked.  "  I  could  n't  think  what  you  meant. 
These  are  just  common  stockings.  I  embroid- 
ered them,  myself." 

"  Janet  Leslie !  "  Day  was  down  on  the  floor, 
pulling  aside  Janet's  skirt. 

Janet  laughed  again  in  girlish  pleasure.  After 
all  her  shabbiness,  it  was  good  to  find  that, 
in  some  one  item,  her  dress  could  arouse  the 
admiration  of  a  girl  like  Day. 

"You  think  they  are  pretty?"  she  questioned. 

"  Pretty !  They  are  adorable.  Who  taught 
you  to  do  such  work  ? " 

"The  nuns." 

Day  clasped  her  hands. 

"  Janet !  Do  you  suppose  they  ever  could  teach 
me?" 

"  If  you  worked  long  enough." 

"  How  long  ? " 

"  This  is  my  first  year  out  of  the  convent.  I 
went  in  when  I  was  seven." 

Day  counted  swiftly. 

"You  are  fourteen.  Seven  years."  Then  her 
tone  lost  its  alertness.  "  And  we  are  going 
home  in  about  three  weeks.  Oh,  dear!" 

"I'll  do  some  for  you,"  Janet  volunteered. 
"  I  love  to  do  them." 

"  Come   here,   Janet,"   Mrs.    Argyle   bade   her. 


348  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  Put  up  your  foot,  child,  and  let  me  see  them. 
Where  do  you  get  your  patterns  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  make  them  up,"  Janet  answered,  in 
obvious  surprise  at  such  a  question. 

Mrs.  Argyle  lifted  the  black  skirt,  drew  her 
fingers  slowly  across  the  firm,  smooth  stitches, 
let  the  skirt  fall  again,  and  looked  up  at  Janet. 

"  Janet,"  she  said  quietly ;  "  I  shall  be  glad  to 
furnish  the  stockings  and  pay  you  a  dollar  a 
pair  for  doing  a  dozen  pairs  for  me." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Argyle  ! "  Janet,  scarlet  now,  had 
dropped  on  the  floor  at  Mrs.  Argyle's  feet  and 
was  facing  her  with  blazing  eyes.  "  After  all 
you  have  done  for  me,  do  you  suppose  I  would  n't 
love  to  do  you  all  you  want?" 

Reaching  out  her  hand,  Mrs.  Argyle  took  hold  of 
the  resolute  little  chin  and  turned  the  face  upward. 

"  Janet,  dear,  you  'd  sew  your  fingers  off  for 
me,  if  it  were  necessary ;  but  fortunately  it  is  n't. 
No  ;  listen,  dear.  Your  stockings  are  beautiful, 
much  prettier  than  those  I  have  seen  in  the 
shops.  It  will  be  doing  me  a  great  favour,  if 
you  will  embroider  some  for  Day  and  me." 

"  And  give  them  to  you,"  Janet  begged. 

"  No,  dear.  You  '11  give  the  design,  the  origi- 
nality of  them  ;  but  I  shall  pay  for  the  work." 

"  But  not  four  times  what  it  is  worth,"  Janet 
persisted. 


IN  QUEBEC  349 


Mrs.  Argylc  laughed. 

u  I  'm  not,  Janet.  In  fact,  I  have  paid  more, 
ever  so  much  more  for  work  not  half  so  good. 
If  you  only  had  the  time,  child,  I  could  get 
orders  for  you  in  New  York  for  all  the  stockings 
you  could  do." 

Janet  caught  her  breath. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Argyle  ?     Truthfully  ?  " 

"  True  as  anything  can  be." 

"  But  I  can  do  them  so  fast.  I  could  do  ever 
so  many  in  a  week,"  she  said,  with  breathless 
haste  for,  all  at  once,  there  had  flashed  up 
within  her  a  sudden  hope  which,  she  had  con- 
fessed to  Rob,  she  had  supposed  forever  dead. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  into  business,  Janet  ?  "  Day 
suggested  practically.  "  There 's  one  woman  in 
New  York  who  supports  herself  just  by  tying 
pretty  bows,  and  another  who  has  a  great  reputa- 
tion, making  scalloped  cakes  for  children's  parties. 
The  first  thing  we  always  used  to  ask  was  whether 
there  would  be  Severs  cakes.  Why  don't  you  go 
in  for  stockings,  and  make  yourself  a  name  and 
fortune  ?  " 

And  Janet  answered  slowly, — 

"Do  you  know,  Day,  I  really  believe  I  will. 
That  is,"  she  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Argyle  with  eyes 
where  courage  and  hope  and  appealing  wishful- 
ness  were  mingled  ;  "  that  is,  if  your  mother  will 
help  me  start." 


350  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"Start  what?"  Rob  demanded,  as  he  appeared 
upon  the  threshold,  with  his  father  at  his  side. 

It  was  Day  who  answered,  for  Janet  coloured 
and  fell  silent.  Her  new-born  plan  as  yet  seemed 
to  her  too  feeble  to  be  displayed  to  other  eyes  than 
those  of  Day  and  Mrs.  Argyle.  Moreover,  she  was 
never  quite  at  ease  with  Mr.  Argyle  whose  brisk 
alertness  and  decision  always  made  Janet  think  of 
one  of  the  locomotives  on  the  railway  of  which  he 
was  president.  She  admired  him  unreservedly ; 
but  she  wondered  without  cease  how  Rob  could  be 
such  chums  with  a  man  whom  she  so  dreaded. 

"Janet  has  unfolded  her  napkin  and  found  her 
talent,"  Day  said,  as  she  made  room  for  her  father 
by  her  side.  "  She  is  going  to  win  renown  on  her 
embroidered  stockings." 

Rob  strode  across  the  floor  and  sat  himself  down 
on  the  arm  of  his  mother's  chair. 

"To  quote  the  language  of  Sir  George,  how 
rummy ! "  he  observed.  "  Janet,  I  bespeak  your 
services  for  me  and  Dad.  I  '11  have  a  football  on 
mine,  one  leg,  that  is,  and  a  pair  of  goal  posts  on 
the  other.  Then  they  can  chase  each  other  when 
I  walk.  As  for  Dad,  he  '11  have  a  traim  of  choo- 
choo  cars  around  each  ankle,  just  above  his  ties." 

And,  in  the  protesting  groans  that  followed, 
Janet  gathered  up  her  work  and  prepared  to  make 
her  escape.  She  met  Ronald,  however,  upon  the 


IN  QUEBEC  351 


threshold,  and  Ronald  faced  her  about  into  the 
room  once  more. 

"  Come  with  me,  while  I  break  my  news,"  he 
bade  her,  for  it  had  been  agreed,  three  days  before, 
that  nothing  should  be  said  to  the  Argyles  regard- 
ing Sir  George's  offer,  until  some  decision  had  been 
reached. 

Day  heard  him,  and  she  pricked  up  her  ears. 

"  What  news,  Ronald  ? "  she  demanded  promptly. 

Laughing,  he  faced  her,  with  a  swift  aside,  — 

"  I  have  my  mount.     Are  you  glad  ? " 

If  he  had  expected  that  she  would  need  explana- 
tion of  his  words,  he  was  mistaken.  She  nodded 
back  at  him  eagerly. 

"  I  told  you  it  would  come,  before  I  went  away." 

"And  you  also  told  me  —  " 

She  caught  the  words  from  his  lips. 

"  Told  you  truly  that  none  of  your  friends  would 
be  gladder  than  I." 

His  colour  came.  Day's  friendship  had  grown 
very  dear  to  him,  during  those  winter  weeks. 

"  It  is  true,  then  ? "  he  asked,  while  he  looked 
steadily  down  into  her  eyes. 

Rising,  she  took  his  hand. 

"Yes,  Ronald,  it  is,"  she  said  simply.  "You 
ought  to  know  it  by  now." 

From  the  other  side  of  the  room,  Rob  struck  in 
resignedly. 


352  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

"  When  you  two  have  finished  your  minuet  over 
there,  I  should  like  to  remind  Ronald  that  we  are 
panting  to  hear  his  news." 

Ronald  laughed,  as  he  faced  ahout. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  everybody,"  he  replied. 
"  My  news  is  a  bit  startling,  too.  I  am  to  sail  for 
England,  two  weeks  from  Saturday." 

"  Ronald  ! "  Then  Day  checked  herself  abruptly, 
while  Janet  wondered  at  her  changing  colour. 

"  Wish  I  were ! "  Rob  commented  promptly. 
"There's  a  hint  for  you,  Dad.  What  takes  you, 
Ronald  ?"' 

"  Sir  George.     I  'm  to  go  as  his  secretary." 

"  Ronald,  you  lucky  man !  Barring  the  slight 
lack  of  brains,  Sir  George  will  be  one  of  the  com- 
ing men.  His  uncle  was  endlessly  rich  and  all 
that.  When  did  this  thing  materialize  ?" 

"  Last  night  at  eight  o'clock,"  Janet  answered 
for  her  brother.  "I  really  settled  it,  the  night 
before;  but  we  only  announced  it  to  Sir  George, 
last  night." 

"  We !  "     Rob  made  a  gesture  of  scorn  at  Janet. 

"  Yes,  we,"  she  answered  firmly.  "  Ronald  was 
bound  he  would  n't  leave  us  and  go ;  and  I  did  n't 
dare  trust  him  to  see  Sir  George  alone,  so  I  went, 
too,  and  helped  him  to  break  the  news." 

Rob  turned  from  Janet  back  to  Janet's  brother. 

"I'm  no  good  at  words,  old  man,"  he  said,  as 


IN  QUEBEC  353 


his  hand  shut  hard  on  Ronald's  fingers.  "You 
know  how  glad  I  am.  That  office  was  wearing  the 
life  out  of  you.  You  took  it  like  a  trump ;  but  you 
never  could  have  held  out  long.  You  are  n't  built 
for  things  like  that.  You  're  going  in  for  a  much 
better  time,  and  I  'm  mighty  glad  you  are." 

And  Day  added  softly,  — 

"  Yes.     It  was  Kismet,  after  all." 

"  And  yet,"  Rob  said  to  his  father,  half  an  hour 
later ;  "  I  can't  say  I  envy  the  fellow.  He  is  in  for 
easy  work  and  a  large  salary ;  but  there  are  other 
things  to  be  considered.  With  a  hand-organ  to 
grind,  his  outfit  would  be  complete  ;  but  mercifully 
Ronald  Leslie's  sense  of  humour  is  n't  too  acute." 

The  chorus  of  question  and  congratulation  was 
ended,  and  Janet  had  swept  Mrs.  Argyle  and  Day 
off  in  search  of  her  mother.  Rob  and  his  father 
were  sitting  alone  before  the  fire. 

Mr.  Argyle  looked  up  at  his  son's  words,  laughed 
a  little,  then  grew  grave  once  more. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  n't  what  I  should  have 
chosen ;  but  I  'm  not  sure  it 's  not  the  best  thing 
for  Ronald.  It  may  in  time  lead  to  something  more 
important.  Still  —  " 

"  Still  ?  "  Rob  jogged  his  father,  after  it  seemed 
to  him  the  pause  had  lasted  altogether  too  long. 

"  Still,  I  confess  I  am  rather  sorry." 

"  Why  ?  " 

23 


354  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  Because  I  have  been  keeping  an  eye  on  the 
fellow,  myself." 

"  And  somebody  else  came  in  ahead  on  the 
deal  ?  "  Rob  inquired  irreverently.  "  Too  bad, 
Dad  !  Next  time  you  'd  better  go  about  it  a  little 
earlier.  What  were  you  after  ? " 

Mr.  Argyle  thoughtfully  clasped  his  hands,  then 
opened  out  the  two  forefingers  and  looked  at  them 
intently. 

"  I  had  been  watching  Leslie  for  weeks,"  he  said 
again,  and  it  was  plain  from  his  voice  that  he  was 
disappointed.  "  I  want  just  such  a  man  as  he  is, 
young,  steady,  willing  to  work  at  whatever  comes. 
Leslie  was  just  the  one.  In  time,  he  would  have 
made  his  way  to  the  front." 

Rob  faced  his  father  steadily. 

"  I  see,"  he  said.  "  You  wanted  a  man  you 
could  train  for  some  especial  thing." 

«  Yes." 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"For  manager  up  here.  We^  have  put  through 
our  deal ;  it  won't  be  long  before  we  need  a  manager 
for  these  Canadian  lines,  and  that  manager  by 
rights  ought  to  be  —  " 

"  A  Canadian."  Rob  capped  his  sentence  for 
him. 

"  Yes.  I  think  he  would  get  on  better  with  the 
people  up  here." 


IN  QUEBEC  355 


Rob  laughed,  as  there  suddenly  flashed  into  his 
mind  the  memory  of  one  snowy  day  in  the 
library. 

"  Yes,"  he  echoed.  "  I  think  he  would."  Then 
once  more  he  faced  his  father  gravely.  "  Well," 
he  demanded  ;  "  now  you  've  lost  your  chance  at 
Ronald,  what  are  you  going  to  do  next  ?  " 

For  an  instant,  his  father's  eyes  rested  upon  him 
with  manifest  pride. 

"  Wait  for  you,"  he  said  then. 

Rob  shook  his  head. 

"  I  'm  no  good,  Dad ;  I  'm  not  steady  enough. 
Besides,  you  've  always  said  I  must  go  through 
college.  That  makes  six  years  to  wait." 

"  And  I  want  the  man,  next  month,"  Mr.  Argyle 
made  thoughtful  answer.  "  I  want  him  in  my 
office,  Rob;  I  want  him  to  be  trained  from  the 
first,  trained  under  my  own  eye." 

Rob  nodded. 

"  I  know.  Just  as  grandfather  trained  you ; 
just  as  you  '11  train  me,  Dad,  once  I  am  out  of 
college."  For  a  moment,  he  was  silent,  while  he 
bent  forward  and  prodded  the  fire.  Then  of  a  sud- 
den he  sat  up  and  looked  at  his  father,  his  lips  un- 
steady with  his  eagerness,  his  blue  eyes  blazing. 
"  Dad,"  he  said,  and,  as  he  spoke,  he  gripped  his 
courage  fast ;  "  I  think  —  You  want  a  fellow,  as  I 
understand  it,  a  Canadian  fellow  who  is  steady  and 


356  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

loyal  and  willing  to  work  at  whatever  comes,  a 
fellow  that 's  all-round  a  man  ? " 

His  father  nodded,  too  intent  upon  his  son's  face 
to  feel  the  need  for  words. 

"  Then,"  Rob  spoke  more  slowly,  and,  while  he 
spoke,  he  rose  and  faced  his  father  steadily  ;  "then, 
Dad,  I  think  I  know  the  man  you  want." 

It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  later  that  Day's  voice 
was  heard  in  the  hall  outside.  Rising,  Mr.  Argyle 
put  an  end  to  the  long  talk. 

"  1  like  what  you  tell  me,  Rob,"  he  said  then. 
"  I  will  make  a  few  inquiries  about  the  fellow,  and 
see  what  I  can  find  out." 

Four  days  later,  Rob  crossed  to  Levis.  The  noon 
sun  lay  warm  upon  the  river  which  glittered  back 
again  in  every  shade  of  blue  and  gray.  Here  and 
there  a  bit  of  ice,  broken  from  the  bridge  which 
still  held  firm  at  Cap  Rouge,  came  sliding  down  the 
tide  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  the  river  was  wholly 
clear.  The  wind  swept  sharply  down  the  stream  ; 
yet  Rob,  his  collar  turned  high  about  his  ears,  lin- 
gered in  the  bow,  looking  out  upon  the  river,  while 
his  mind  went  back  to  his  last  crossing.  Even  now 
he  could  hear  the  hoarse  cries  from  the  pilot-house, 
could  hear  the  angry  grinding  of  the  ice,  could  feel 
the  steady,  steely  grip  of  Blanchard's  hand  upon 
his  arm.  Rob  shut  his  teeth  and  stared  out  across 
the  gleaming  river  which  all  at  once  seemed  dan- 


fN  QUEBEC  357 


cing  in  a  mist  before  his  eyes.     Two  steady  eyes 
seemed  meeting  his  ;  and,  above  the  noise  of  the 
ice,  the  echo  of  his  own  voice  was  in  his  ears,  — 
"  We  '11  fight  it  out  together  till  the  end." 
From  close  at  hand  behind  the  corner  of  the 
foundry  wall,  there   came   a   resounding  whistle, 
just  as  Rob  stepped  upon  the  pier.     The  next  in- 
stant, the  long  brown  train  swept  in  and  halted, 
puffing,  beside  the  crowded  platform.     Regardless 
of  past  strains  and  aches,  Rob  made  after  it,  caught 
it  up  and  came  to  a  halt  beside  the  steps  of  the 
Springfield  sleeper.     The  porter  saw  him  first  and 
grinned  a  welcome  ;  but  Rob,  for  once,  ignored  a 
greeting.     His  eyes  were  all  for  a  pair  of  wide, 
blue-coated  shoulders,  for  a  pair  of  keen  brown 
eyes  that  could  be  gentle  as  well  as  piercing. 
"  Argyle  !     Where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 
Rob  whirled  about,  held  out  his  hand. 
"Jack,"  he   said  simply;  "I've  come  for  you. 
My  father  is  waiting  to  see  you  in  Quebec." 
And,  a  little  later,  they  went  away  together. 


358  JANET:  HKii  WINTER 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

"  TANET,"  Mrs.  Argyle  said,  a  few  days  later; 
tJ    "I  have  decided  that  I  want  to  borrow  you 
for  a  month." 

Janet  looked  up  from  the  handkerchiefs  she  was 
marking  with  an  R.  L.  and  many  tears. 

"  Borrow  me  ?  " 

"  Yes."  Mrs.  Argyle  smiled  at  the  absolute 
wonderment  in  the  girl's  tone.  *  May  I  ? " 

"  Of  course.  Anything  I  have,"  Janet  assented 
readily,  for  Mrs.  Argyle  was  not  only  herself,  but 
she  was  also  Rob's  mother  and,  to  Janet,  that  was 
coming  to  count  for  a  good  deal. 

"  I  want  just  you,  yourself,  dear." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  take  you  home  with  me  to  spend  a  month." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Argyle !  "  For  a  moment,  Janet  held 
her  breath,  speechless.  u  Spend  a  month,  a  whole 
great,  long  month  in  New  York,  with  you  and  Day 
and  Rob  !  How  I  wish,  wish,  wish  I  could !  " 

"Why  can't  you?"  Mrs.  Argyle  asked  lightly, 
for,  only  the  night  before,  she  had  had  a  long  talk 
with  Mrs.  Leslie. 


IN  QUEBEC  359 


But  already  Janet's  shoulders  had  fallen  to- 
gether, with  her  ebbing  breath. 

"  I  just  can't,"  she  said  flatly. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  can't  leave  my  mother." 

"Not  if  she  is  willing?" 

"  She  won't  be." 

"  But  she  is.     I  asked  her,  first." 

For  an  instant,  the  light  blazed  up  again  in 
Janet's  eyes.  Then  the  light  was  quenched. 

"  Mrs.  Argyle,"  she  said  steadily  ;  "  her  saying 
she  is  willing  does  n't  make  a  bit  of  difference. 
I  know,  'way  down  inside  herself,  she  'd  hate  to 
have  me  go." 

"  No,  dear ;  I  think  she  really  is  quite  willing," 
Mrs.  Argyle  urged.  "  We  talked  it  all  over  to- 
gether: how  you  had  never  had  a  real  journey,  how 
much  new  there  would  be  for  you  to  see  and  learn, 
how  much  good  it  would  do  you." 

Janet  lifted  her  head  proudly. 

"  Yes,"  she  said ;  "  and  did  you  talk  over  what 
my  mother  would  do  without  me  ? " 

"  Mrs.  Waters  is  coming  here  to  board,  you 
know,  as  soon  as  she  can  have  my  room,"  Mrs. 
Argyle  reminded  her. 

But  Janet  interrupted  her  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  and  would  Mrs.  Waters  cuddle  her,  and 
talk  to  her  in  the  twilight,  when  she  gets  lonesome 


360  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

waiting  for  Ronald  to  come  in  to  supper  ?  And 
would  Mrs.  Waters  talk  over  Ronald's  letters  with 
her,  and  plan  what  we  'd  write  back  again  ?  " 

"  But  only  for  a  month,  Janet.  And  we  all  want 
you  so.  Rob  and  I  planned  it  together,  and  Day 
is  as  eager  for  it  as  we  are.  Rob  is  writing  to 
Sidney  about  it  now.  And  a  month  is  such  a  little 
bit  of  a  time." 

However,  Janet's  head  had  drooped  again  ;  the 
fire  had  left  her  eager  young  voice,  and  now  the 
words  dragged  a  little. 

"  Mrs.  Argyle,"  she  said  slowly ;  "  it  is  lovely  of 
you  to  ask  me,  lovelier  still  of  you  to  want  me.  I 
only  wish  I  could  go ;  it  would  be  just  like  going 
into  heaven,  the  journey,  and  the  visit,  and  the 
seeing  New  York  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  If  I  were 
a  little  bit  of  a  girl,  1  should  just  sit  down  and  cry 
for  it  all ;  but,  even  then,  I  am  not  sure  I  should 

go." 

"  But  I  can't  see  why  you  should  n't."  Mrs. 
Argyle  spoke  thoughtfully,  her  eyes  on  Janet's 
face,  while  her  thoughts  went  over  and  over  her 
talk  with  Mrs.  Leslie.  "  I  truly  think  your  mother 
believes  it  would  be  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for 
you." 

Again  Janet  raised  her  head. 

"Best  for  me,  of  course;  but  what  about  its 
Iteing  best  for  her  ?"  she  asked  stubbornly.  Then 


IN  QUEBEC  361 


once  more  her  tone  changed.  "Mrs.  Argyle,  please 
don't  think  I  don't  want  to  go,"  she  begged ; 
"  please  don't  think  I  don't  appreciate  your  asking 
me.  I  love  it  all,  love  it  ever  so  much  more  than 
you  will  ever  know.  But  —  I  promised  Ronald  I 
would  take  care  of  mother." 

"  I  know,  dear  child  ;  but  —  " 

Janet  shook  her  head. 

"  I  should  n't  be  keeping  my  promise,  if  I  went 
off  to  have  a  good  time,  just  as  soon  as  Ronald's 
back  was  turned.  Mrs.  Argyle,  when  I  was  a  little, 
little  mussy  baby,  my  mother  had  to  give  up  things 
and  stay  at  home  with  me.  It 's  my  turn,  now  ; 
and  I  ought  to  be  glad  to  do  it."  She  looked  up 
bravely  ;  then  the  bravery  ended  in  a  sudden  wave 
of  girlish  disappointment.  "  But  I  'm  not  glad  a 
bit.  I  want  to  go,  want  it  more  than  I  ever  wanted 
anything  else  in  all  my  life." 

And  Mrs.  Argyle  answered  slowly,  while  she 
patted  the  brown  head  which  all  at  once  had  come 
against  her  shoulder,  — 

"  Janet  dear,  I  wish  you  could.  And  yet,  I  think 
perhaps  you  are  right." 

Once  more  Janet  raised  her  head  and  spoke 
rapidly. 

"  It  is  right,  I  know.  I  wish  it  weren't ;  but  it 's 
no  use.  I  should  n't  be  happy  for  one  single 
moment.  All  the  time  I  was  doing  things  and 


362  JANET:   HER    WINTER 

seeing  things,  I  should  keep  thinking  of  my  mother 
here  alone,  with  my  father  dead,  and  Ronald  away, 
and  me  running  off  to  leave  her  as  soon  as  ever 
I  could.  You  know  how  I'd  love  it,  if  things  wrre 
only  different.  Day  is  a  dear,  and,  next  to  Ronald, 
I  like  Rob  best  of  all  the  boys  I  've  ever  known. 
And  I  never  went  on  a  journey  over  night,  nor  saw 
the  United  States.  It  is  going  to  be  so  lonesome, 
too,  with  Ronald  gone  and  you  all  going."  Sud- 
denly she  lifted  her  head,  which  had  fallen  back 
into  its  old  place.  "  Mrs.  Argyle,"  she  asked,  and 
her  voice  was  sharp  with  anxiety ;  "  does  Ronald 
know  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  sure,  dear.  I  think  not,  though.  He 
was  at  the  Chateau  with  Sir  George,  all  last 
night." 

"  He  must  n't  be  told  at  all,"  Janet  said  reso- 
lutely, as  she  rose  from  the  arm  of  Mrs.  Argyle's 
chair  and  crossed  the  room  to  the  window. 

"But  why?" 

For  a  long  moment,  Janet's  gaze  rested  on  a 
knot  of  soldiers  coming  down  from  the  Citadel. 
The  sunlight,  striking  on  their  scarlet  coats, 
brought  them  out  in  bold  relief  against  the  gray 
old  wall  beyond.  The  vivid  bit  of  colour,  their 
laughing  faces  and  their  swift,  alert  tread,  all 
seemed  to  throw  into  stronger  contrast  the  shadow 
of  disappointment  which  lay  upon  the  girl  within. 


IN  QUEBEC  363 


Then,  facing  about,  she  answered  Mrs.  Argyle's 
question  with  a  voice  she  strove  in  vain  to  keep 
level. 

"  Because  it  would  tangle  all  his  plans  and  make 
him  worry.  He  was  determined  he'd  not  go,  Mrs. 
Argyle ;  he  was  going  to  give  it  up,  all  the  money 
and  the  fun  and  all,  for  mother  and  for  me.  He 
only  said  he  'd  go,  when  I  promised  I  would  see  to 
mother  and  keep  her  from  missing  him  too  much. 
Mrs.  Argyle,"  her  voice  grew  firm  once  more ;  "  I 
love  you  all  ;  you  know  I  do,  even  if  I  have  had 
queer  ways  of  showing  it  sometimes.  But  my 
mother  and  Ronald  stand  first.  They  would  give 
up  anything  in  this  world  for  me.  It  would  be  a 
shame  to  me,  if  I  would  n't  give  up  this  one  thing 
for  them." 

And  Mrs.  Argyle,  watching  the  sad,  resolute 
young  face,  told  herself  that  Janet  was  right. 

Nevertheless,  there  was  mourning  and  lamenta- 
tion among  the  younger  Argyles,  when  Janet's 
decision  was  made  known ;  and  only  Janet's  eager 
pleading  held  Day  back  from  making  a  final  appeal 
to  Ronald.  Quite  unexpectedly,  however,  Mr.  Ar- 
gyle took  his  stand  upon  the  side  of  Janet. 

"  I  like  your  pluck,  my  dear, "  he  said  to  her,  one 
night.  "  I  think  you  are  in  the  right  of  it ;  it 's  no 
time  to  leave  your  mother,  when  she  's  in  her  first 
woe  over  Ronald's  going.  Wait  a  few  months,  and 


304  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

then  we  '11  have  a  visit  from  you  both.  Just  now, 
your  place  is  here." 

And,  meanwhile,  the  hours  were  ebbing  fast,  and 
the  day  was  at  hand  when  Sir  George  Porteous  was 
to  sail  for  home  and  take  Ronald  Leslie  with  him. 
It  was  an  early  spring,  that  year.  Already  the  ice 
had  left  the  river  below  Quebec ;  already  the  ocean 
liners  were  coming  in  and  out.  Sir  George  had  been 
waiting  for  the  opening  of  the  river ;  his  one  expe- 
rience of  American  railways  had  led  him  to  shun 
the  journey  to  Halifax  by  rail.  Rather  than  that, 
he  would  have  delayed  until  the  end  of  summer  the 
returning  to  his  home  and  his  new'duties.  In  fact, 
now  that  Sir  George  had  arrayed  himself  in  mourn- 
ing garments  and  taken  to  himself  a  secretary,  he 
appeared  to  feel  that  his  whole  duty  was  done  ; 
and  it  was  only  in  response  to  a  vigorous  prodding 
from  his  lawyers  in  England  that  he  had  aroused 
himself  to  the  point  of  booking  his  passage  homo. 
At  length,  however,  the  final  morning  came,  and 
Sir  George,  hat  in  hand,  sat  on  his  bed  and  lan- 
guidly surveyed  his  heap  of  luggage. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  you've  been  very  good  to  me,"  he 
observed  to  Mrs.  Leslie,  as  she  straightened  up  her 
bent  and  aching  back.  "  A  fellow  has  so  many 
things,  you  know.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  you  and 
Leslie,  they  'd  have  been  in  shocking  heaps." 

Sir  George  spoke  truthfully.     He  had  spent  all 


IN  QUEBEC  365 


of  Thursday  and  most  of  Friday  morning  in  alter- 
nately putting  up  his  glass  to  stare  at  his  posses- 
sions, then  in  resting  his  head  against  the  back  of 
his  chair  and  closing  his  puzzled  eyes.  On  Wed- 
nesday night,  Sir  George  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
order  his  various  boxes  and  bags  brought  to  his 
room.  When  he  went  up  from  dinner,  they  stood 
awaiting  him  in  serried  rank. 

"  By  George !  "  Sir  George  remarked  to  himself, 
as  he  beheld  them.  "  I  'd  best  begin  my  packing." 

For  the  next  half-hour,  he  worked  diligently,  so 
diligently  that  his  bureau  drawers  and  his  two 
wardrobes  yawned  at  him  emptily,  their  former 
contents  strewn  on  couch  and  table  and  across  the 
open  trunks.  Then  Sir  George  turned  weary,  and 
betook  himself  to  bed.  Once  after  that,  he  went 
so  far  as  to  gather  up  his  neckties  and  hang  them, 
sorted  by  colours,  across  the  footboard  of  his  bed. 
Otherwise,  nothing  had  been  moved  when,  late  on 
Friday  morning,  Ronald  had  come  into  the  room. 
Two  hours  later,  Mrs.  Leslie  was  assisting  her  son 
to  pack  the  raiment  of  Sir  George  Porteous. 

The  steamer  was  to  sail,  early  that  Saturday 
afternoon  ;  and  the  noonday  sun  was  still  warm 
over  the  city  when  two  carriages  drove  away  from 
the  door  of  the  Leslie  home.  The  first  one  held 
the  four  Argyles,  for  Mrs.  Argyle  had  realized  that 
no  alien  eyes  should  look  on  Ronald's  parting  from 


JANET:    lll'.ll    WINTER 


the  old  home  where  all  his  childhood  had  been 
spent.  Accordingly,  they  had  hurried  through  the 
mid-day  dinner,  and  taken  a  long  drive  out  the 
Sainte  Foy  Road  before  they  turned  and  went 
down  Palace  Hill.  The  streets  of  Lower  Town 
were  deep  in  mud,  as  the  horses  plashed  their  way 
eastward  and  came  out  upon  the  pier,  where  the 
great  steamer  was  puffing  lazily  and  straining  at 
her  moorings  with  the  ebbing  of  the  tide. 

Sir  George  Porteous  was  there  before  them, 
three  brown-clad  porters  by  his  side,  while  the  in- 
spector toiled  his  weary  way  through  the  vast  pile 
of  luggage.  All  at  once,  Sir  George  lifted  his 
voice  in  shrill  remonstrance. 

"Oh,  I  say,  be  careful  ;  can't  you  ?  All  my 
trousers  are  in  there,  you  know.  Don't  root  about 
like  that  !  "  Then,  turning,  he  saw  Day  and  rose 
to  his  feet  "  I  thought  you  'd  come,"  he  said. 
"  It  's  like  the  old  times,  you  know,  when  you 
always  used  to  be  about.  I  '11  miss  you,  when  I 
get  to  England.  You  're  not  like  our  girls,  you 
know." 

Then,  with  a  cursory  nod  at  Rob,  he  turned  once 
more  and  grasped  Mrs.  Argyle's  hands. 

"  You  've  been  so  good  to  me,"  he  said  simply. 
"  A  fellow  does  get  lonely,  and  you  Ve  tried  to  put 
it  right." 

But  Day  had  whirled  about,  for  Ronald's  voice 


IN  QUEBEC  367 


was  iu  her  ears ;  and,  all  at  once,  it  seemed  to  her 
that  the  great  black  steamer,  puffing  and  straining 
at  her  moorings,  had  blotted  out  for  her  the  sky 
and  sun. 

"  Ronald,"  she  said  bravely,  though  with  a  queer 
little  catch  in  her  voice  ;  "  I  told  you  I  'd  be  glad, 
gladder  than  any  of  your  other  friends.  I  am  glad, 
too,  only  —  " 

And  Ronald  understood. 

Then  the  moments  dragged  on  slowly,  with 
forced  talk  and  frequent  pauses,  till  at  last  the 
signal  came  and  the  many  groups  parted  into  two, 
one  for  the  sea  and  one  for  shore.  The  last  rope 
plashed  overboard,  the  great  vessel  shivered,  moved, 
and  there  came  a  narrow  thread  of  open  water  be- 
tween the  shipside  and  the  pier.  Then,  for  an  in- 
stant, Mrs.  Leslie  hid  her  face  ;  but  Janet,  scarlet, 
dry-eyed,  waved  a  brave  farewell. 

Far  towards  the  stern,  Sir  George  and  Ronald 
leaned  upon  the  rail.  Ronald's  eyes  were  eagerly 
racing  to  and  fro  across  the  little  group  of  familiar 
faces ;  but  Sir  George,  his  jaw  sagging  and  his 
eyeglass  in  his  hand,  surveyed  them  with  a  calm 
regret.  Suddenly  Day,  standing  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  pier,  lifted  her  hand  for  silence.  Clear  and 
distinct  across  the  water,  in  all  its  languid  cadence 
there  floated  back  to  them  the  voice  of  Sir  George 
Porteous. 


368  JANET:  HER    WINTER 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  he  was  observing  mournfully ; 
"really,  it's  a  brute  of  a  thing  to  bid  your  friends 
good-by." 

As  the  group  on  shore  turned  back  to  the 
waiting  carriages,  Rob  stepped  to  his  father's 
side. 

"Take  Mrs.  Leslie  in  my  place,"  he  said. 
"Janet  and  I  will  walk  up  together." 

Nevertheless,  before  they  did  walk  up  together, 
they  lingered  long  upon  the  pier.  Slowly  the  crowd 
about  them  dwindled  away,  until  the  place  was 
wellnigh  deserted.  Slowly  the  sun  dropped  behind 
the  gray  old  city  on  the  cliff.  Slowly  the  Levis 
heights  across  the  river  dyed  themselves  with  the 
rosy  purple  which  heralds  the  sunset  gold  to  come. 
Down  and  away  from  before  their  feet,  the  great 
river  flowed  on  in  silent  majesty,  bearing  the 
steamer  from  their  sight.  Already  she  was  dwind- 
ling to  a  toy-like  shape,  far  down  the  southern 
channel.  Janet  stared  after  it  with  dreary  eyes. 
The  scarlet  had  left  her  cheeks,  her  lashes  drooped 
heavily  and  her  chin  had  lost  its  resolution.  For 
the  hour,  her  bright  courage  had  left  her ;  and  it 
was  a  piteous  face  which  she  turned  to  Rob,  in 
answer  to  his  touch  upon  her  arm. 

"  Just  let  me  make  my  wail,"  she  begged  him, 
humbly  as  a  little  child  might  have  done.  "  Mummy 
must  n't  see  me  cry ;  I  promised  Ronald  I  'd  be 


IN  QUEBEC  369 


brave.  But  — "  with  a  swift,  tragical  gesture 
at  the  banner  of  snioke  which  hung  in  the  sky 
above  a  far-off  point  of  land,  she  added ;  "  but  that 
steamer  is  carrying  off  my  Ronald,  and  I  just  can't 
live  without  him." 

Furtively  Rob  rubbed  the  back  of  his  hand  across 
his  eyes ;  still  more  furtively  he  rubbed  the  back 
of  his  hand  across  the  side  of  his  coat. 

"  Don't  mind,  Janet,"  he  said  then.  "  You  '11 
feel  better,  when  you've  cried  it  out." 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

"  Crying  never  helps ;  it  only  gives  one  headache 
and  a  swollen  nose,"  she  said,  with  brave  practi- 
cality. "  Talk  to  me,  Rob,  and  make  me  forget 
things." 

And,  with  Rob's  assenting  gesture,  they  turned 
away,  came  off  from  the  pier  and  followed  the 
muddy  pavements  back  to  Dambourges  Hill.  At 
the  top  of  the  hill,  Rob  halted  irresolutely  ;  then  he 
led  the  way  out  to  the  edge  of  the  bastion.  For  a 
long  moment,  they  stood  there  silent,  leaning  on 
the  rail  and  staring  out  across  the  flats  at  the  dis- 
tant ring  of  dark  blue  mountains  which  shuts 
in  the  changing  picture  in  its  mighty,  changeless 
frame.  Then  slowly,  gravely  Rob  turned  about 
and  laid  his  hand  on  Janet's  which  rested,  tightly 
shut,  upon  the  black  muzzle  of  one  of  the  ancient 

guns. 

24 


370     JANET:  HER    WINTER   IN  QUEBEC 

"  Janet,"  he  said  ;  "  I  'm  going  away,  next  week. 
I  hope  you  're  sorry." 

Instantly  her  face  changed.  In  her  sorrow  for 
Ronald,  she  had  forgotten  this  other  parting,  now 
so  near  at  hand. 

"  I  am,"  she  said ;  but  the  words  were  scarcely 
audible. 

"  We  've  had  some  good  times  together,"  Rob 
went  on ;  "  likewise  some  rows."  He  smiled  a 
little,  as  he  spoke.  Then  he  added,  "  But,  after 
all,  I  think  we  're  the  best  kind  of  friends.  It  has 
been  fun,  our  being  here ;  some  day,  we  '11  all  get 
together  again.  1  'm  sorry  you  can't  come  home 
with  us ;  but  I  honestly  do  agree  with  Dad :  your 
place  is  here." 

He  had  been  speaking  with  slow  thoughtfulness, 
and  now  he  allowed  the  silence  to  drop  over  his 
last  words,  while  his  blue  eyes  fell  from  Janet  to 
the  river  at  his  feet.  Then  suddenly  he  turned 
back  to  face  her,  and  gave  her  hand  a  steady, 
hearty  grip. 

"  Janet,"  he  said  ;  "  you  're  a  good  little  soul, 
and  a  plucky.  I  'm  glad  I  've  known  you,  and  I  'm 
sure  we  '11  keep  on  being  friends." 

And,  hand  in  hand,  they  faced  about  and  van- 
ished around  the  angle  of  the  Ramparts. 

THE   END. 


Miss  Ray's  New  Story  for  Girls 


SIDNEY:  HER  SUMMER 
ON  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE 


By  ANNA   CHAPIN    RAY 

Author  of  the  "  Teddy"  books,  "Janet:  Her  Winter 
at  Quebec,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens.     12rao.     Decorated 
Cloth.     $1.50 


Sidney  Straves  is  another  of  this  author's  true,  helpful, 
earnest  girl  characters.  —  Denver  Republican. 

The  young  heroine  is  a  forceful  little  maiden  of  sweet 
sixteen.  The  descriptions  of  picnics  in  the  pretty  Canadian 
country  are  very  gay  and  enticing,  and  Sidney  and  her 
friends  are  a  merry  group  of  wholesome  young  people.  — 
The  Churchman,  New  York. 

Sidney  is  a  very  happy,  wholesome  girl  with  a  bit  of  a 
temper  to  make  her  human.  —  New  York  Sun. 

A  book  with  lots  of  common  sense  and  thought,  but  not 
a  bit  "  preachy."  The  characters  are  frank,  open,  and  sen- 
sible, and  the  author  knows  girls  and  boys  and  has  real 
sympathy  with  them.  —  Boston  Journal. 

Her  books  are  always  natural  and  sane,  with  plenty  of 
action,  humor,  and  sentiment  of  the  right  kind.  —  Provi- 
dence Journal. 


LITTLE,   BROWN,  &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS 
254°  WASHINGTON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Miss  Ray's  work  draws  instant  comparison  with  the  best  of  Miss  Alcott's:  first, 
because  she  has  the  same  genuine  sympathy  with  boy  and  girl  life  ;  secondly, 
because  she  creates  real  characters,  individual  and  natural,  like  the  young  people 
one  knows,  actually  working  out  the  same  kind  of  problems ;  and,  finally,  because 
her  style  of  writing  is  equally  unaffected  and  straightforward. — Christian  Register, 
Boston. 

TEDDY:   HER    BOOK.      A  Story  of  Sweet  Sixteen 
Illustrated  by  Vesper  L.  George.     12010.     $1.50. 

This  bewitching  story  of  "  Sweet  Sixteen,"  with  its  earnestness,  impetuosity, 
merry  pranks,  and  unconscious  love  for  her  hero,  has  the  same  spring-like  charm. — 
Kate  Sanborn. 

PHEBE:    HER    PROFESSION.      A  Sequel  to  "Teddy: 

Her  Book" 
Illustrated  by  Frank  T.  Merrill.     I2mo.     $1.50. 

This  is  one  of  the  few  books  written  for  young  people  in  which  there  is  to  be 
found  the  same  vigor  and  grace  that  one  demands  in  a  good  story  for  older  people. 
—  Worcester  Spy. 

TEDDY:    HER   DAUGHTER 

A  Sequel  to  "Teddy:  Her  Book,"  and  "  Phebe :  Her  Profession" 

Illustrated  by  J.  B.  Graff.     I2mo.     $1.50. 

It  is  a  human  story,  all  the  characters  breathing  life  and  activity. — Buffalo  Times. 

NATHALIE'S    CHUM 

Illustrated  by  Ellen  Bernard  Thompson.     I2mo.     $1.50. 

Nathalie  is  the  sort  of  a  young  girl  whom  other  girls  like  to  read  about. — Hartford 

Courant. 

URSULA'S  FRESHMAN.  A  Sequel  to  "Nathalie's  Chum" 
Illustrated  by  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards.     I2mo.     $1.50. 
The  best  of  a  series  already  the  best  of  its  kind.  —  Boston  Herald. 

NATHALIE'S  SISTER.  A^fl"el  t0  "Ursula>s  Fresh" 
Illustrated  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens.  121110.  $1.50. 

Peggy,  the  heroine,  is  a  most  original  little  lady  who  says  and  does  aH  sorts  of 
interesting  things.  She  has  pluck  and  spirit,  and  a  temper,  but  she  is  very  lovable, 
and  girls  will  find  h<  r  delightful  to  read  about. — Louisville  Evening  Post. 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  fc?  COMPANY,  Publishers 
254  WASHINGTON  ST.,  BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 


HELEN    LEAH    REED'S 

"BRENDA"    BOOKS 

BRENDA,  HER  SCHOOL  AND  HER  CLUB 

Illustrated  by  Jessie  Willcox  Smith.     i2mo.     $1.50. 

The  Boston  Herald  says :  "  Miss  Reed's  girls  have  all  the  impulses  and  likes  of 
real  girls  as  their  characters  are  developing,  and  her  record  of  their  thoughts  and 
actions  reads  like  a  chapter  snatched  from  the  page  of  life.  It  is  bright,  genial, 
merry,  wholesome,  and  full  of  good  characterizations." 

BRENDA'S   SUMMER   AT   ROCKLEY 

Illustrated  by  Jessie  Willcox  Smith.     I2mo.     $1.50. 

A  charming  picture  of  vacation  life  along  the  famous  North  Shore  of  Massachu. 

setts. 

The  Outlook  says :  "  The  author  is  one  of  the  best  equipped  of  our  writers  for 

girls  of  larger  growth.     Her  stories  are  strong,  intelligent,  and  wholesome." 

BRENDA'S  COUSIN  AT  RADCLIFFE 

Illustrated  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens.     I2mo.     $1.50. 

A  remarkably  real  and  fascinating  story  of  a  college  girl's  career,  excelling  n. 
interest  Miss  Reed's  first  "  Brenda  "  book.  The  Providence  News  says  oi  it: 
"  No  better  college  story  has  been  written."  The  author  is  a  graduate  of  Radcliffe 
College  which  she  describes. 

BRENDA'S  BARGAIN 

Illustrated,     izmo.     $1.50. 

"The  fourth  and  last  of  the  'Brenda'  books,"  says  The  Bookman,  "deals  with 
social  settlement  work,  under  conditions  with  which  the  author  is  familiar."  The 
Boston  Transcript  adds  :  "  This  book  is  by  far  the  best  of  the  series." 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  fc?  COMPANY,  Publishers 
254  WASHINGTON  ST.,  BOSTON,  MASSACHUSETTS 


New  Illustrated  Editions  of 
Miss  Alcott's  Famous  Stories 

THE  LITTLE  WOMEN  SERIES 

BY  LOUISA  M.  ALCOTT.  Illustrated  Edition.  With  eighty-four 
full-page  plates  from  drawings  especially  made  for  this  edition  by 
Reginald  B.  Birch,  Alice  Barber  Stephens,  Jessie  Willcox  Smith, 
and  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards.  Svols.  Crown  8vo.  Decorated 
cloth,  gilt,  in  box,  $16.00. 

Separately  as  follows : 

1.  LITTLE  MEN  :   Life  at  Plumfield  with  Jo's  Boys 

With  15  full-page  illustrations  by  Reginald  B.  Birch.     $2.00. 

2.  LITTLE  WOMEN  :  or  Meg,  Jo,  Beth,  and  Amy 

With  15  full-page  illustrations  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens.     $2.00. 

3.  AN  OLD-FASHIONED  GIRL 

With  12  full  page  pictures  by  Jessie  Willcox  Smith.     $2.00. 

4.  JO'S  BOYS,  and  How  They  Turned  Out 

A  Sequel  to  "  Little  Men."  With  10  full-page  plates  by  Ellen  Wetherakl 
Ahrens.  $2.00. 

5.  EIGHT  COUSINS;  or,  the  Aunt  Hill 

With  8  full-page  pictures  by  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards. 

6.  ROSE  IN  BLOOM 

A  Sequel  to  "  Eight  Cousins."  With  8  full-page  pictures  by  Harriet 
Roosevelt  Richards.  $2.00. 

7.  UNDER  THE  LILACS 

With  8  original  full-page  pictures  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens.     $2.00. 

8.  JACK  AND  JILL 

With  8  full-page  pictures  from  drawings  by  Harriet  Roosevelt  Richards. 
$2.00. 

The  artists  selected  to   illustrate  have  caught  the  spirit  of  the  originals  and  contributed  a 

series  of  strikingly  beautiful  and  faithful  pictures  of  the  author's  Character!  and  scenes.  — 

Boston  Herald. 

Alice  Barber  Stephens,  who  is  very  near  the  head  of  American  illustrators,  has  shown 

wonderful  ability  in  delineating  the  characters  and  costumes  for  "Little  Women."     They  are 

almost  startlingly  realistic.  —  Worcester  Spy. 

Miss  Alcott's  books  have  never  before  had  such  an  attractive  typographical  dress  as  the 

present.     They  are  printed  in  large  tvp*  on  heavy  paper,  artistically  bound,  and  illustrated 

with  many  full-page  drawings.  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

LITTLE,    BROWN,   Gf    COMPANY 

Publishers,   254    WASHINGTON    STREET,  BOSTON,   MASS. 


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